


Let the Melody Shine (let it cleanse your mind)

by Jisa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Political Animals, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Depression, Drug Addiction, M/M, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Past Suicide Attempt, Starts pre-Avengers, Steve is not either, TJ is not okay, and goes AU after, and recovery, but they will get better, off screen drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jisa/pseuds/Jisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks after his ‘defrosting,’ Steve Rogers is lost and depressed, wandering the street of New York, haunted by his memories. Things only get more painful for him when he sees Bucky walking up the street. Except. It’s not Bucky.</p>
<p>Instead he meets TJ Hammond, son of a former President and the current Secretary of State, a man troubled by past mistakes, current addictions, and his family’s political ambitions. </p>
<p>Together they tackle their own demons and try to make their lives a little better, all the while forming a friendship that will heal them both. And maybe become a little something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by all the TJ Hammond posts that my dash decided I needed one day. Then I decided TJ needed a Steve and pre-Avenger Steve needed a friend (and also some more heartache). 
> 
> Please tell me what you think and if I missed any errors. Beta read by Nat (mcrdoctorwho). Thanks much! :D
> 
> EDIT: The title used to be "The Second Time Around," but it was a working title that I really didn't like all that much. This one comes from the song "Bitter Sweet Symphony" by The Verve.

Steve was back at the cafe with the chatty blonde waitress. He still hadn't asked for her name, or number despite the urging from the older gentleman who met with his friend here every Thursday, but she smiled at him each time she saw him. Though his return smile was weak, it was nice to have someone to show a little friendliness towards since he wasn’t getting very much of that at the SHIELD facility or anywhere else.

He was sketching again. Nothing like he used to, just another doodle on the back of the paper placemat. This time it was the last apartment he and Bucky had shared before the war. Tiny, one bedroom, with two twin beds, the sofa from Bucky's parents, and Steve's mother's kitchen table with the mismatched leg.

Bucky had come home a Saturday night too tipsy and happy from dancing, and as he came through the main room, he tripped over his own shoes that he had just pulled off, slammed into the table, and made the most horrible moaning wail as it crashed to the ground. Steve had come running in a panic, expecting to find Bucky bleeding and dying, but instead Bucky had given him a sorrowful, teary-eyed look as he held the two ends of the broken table leg. Steve just groaned, thankful that Bucky wasn't injured, and helped lift him up and into bed, all the while assuring Bucky that 'no, Buck, I'm not mad' and 'yes, Buck, I know you'll make it right.' Two days later, Steve had come home from work to find the table standing upright with one leg a grayish off-white.

Steve was shading in two pairs of shoes in the entryway when he saw a hauntingly familiar form walk up the sidewalk and about to pass by the cafe tables. He jolted to his feet, took two steps and caught the man gently by his elbow.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, and he would have been embarrassed to hear the waver in his voice if he hadn't been so overcome with shock and terrible, fragile hope. It couldn't be Bucky; he had seen people that reminded him of Bucky before only to be disappointed and heartbroken a second later. But the man was so like Bucky, and after all, Steve had somehow survived to find himself seventy years in the future.

The man jerked his arm back and said, “No, man, I'm not a bucky. Now hands off.”

Of course not, Steve thought, squeezing his eyes shut. He took a step back. “I'm sorry. Sorry, I. I thought you were someone else.” He opened his eyes and tried to smile, but Bucky's eyes were staring at him over a pair of shiny black sunglasses shaded by a dark blue baseball cap.

“It's okay.” The man lowered his shoulders, relaxed, and proceeded to look Steve up and down. He smiled, “Buy me a coffee, and it's all forgiven.”

Steve could almost feel himself blush. That was the smile Bucky used on the pretty dames he wanted to take dancing. Though Steve was very familiar with it, he'd never had it directed at himself. Bucky had used a different smile for Steve.

He wanted to say no and go hide back in the tiny apartment SHIELD had found for him. But at the same time he desperately wanted any small piece of home and Bucky that he could find, and this man looked so much like Bucky. He stammered out an, “All right,” and sat back down at his table.

The man followed and sat down in the chair across from Steve. He still hadn't stopped wielding that flirty smile, and it was stabbing into every one of the many parts of Steve that craved Bucky. Then the man look off his sunglasses, and it got worse.

Steve had to close his eyes again, but he quickly opened them. He didn't want to miss a single look.

"So, what's your name?" Bucky's lookalike asked.

"Steve."

There was a pause. "Steve... Do I get a last name?" The man smiled Bucky's mischievous 'come on now, Steve, you know you want to' smile.

It made Steve's stomach twist, and he blurted out more harshly than he intended, “Just Steve.”

The smile turned a little strained and meaner, like the ones Bucky flashed at strangers during the war, when he bothered to smile at all. “Oh, come on now. You know my last name. Can’t I get yours?”

“I don't know your name.” Steve's brows scrunched together a bit. Was this another future thing that he was missing?

The man looked suspicious and then surprised. “Really?” he asked. His face had gone soft and open; the mean defensiveness was gone. When Steve nodded, the man searched Steve's face for something. He must have found it because he smiled, wide and happy, and Steve took quick breath. That smile hurt so much, but at the same time he was so glad to see it.

“All right then,” the man continued. “I'm just TJ. It's nice to meet you, just Steve.” He quirked his lips in a flirty half-smile.

The blonde waitress came over to their table with a notepad in her hand and a larger than usual smile on her face. “You're meeting someone today,” she said like it was the best news she had heard all day. She turned to look at TJ, and when he looked up at her, she gave a little, “Oh,” of surprise. Fumbling with her notepad, she asked, “What can I get you?”

“Just a cup of coffee,” TJ said smiling. That one was also a smile Steve recognized, but not from seeing Bucky use it. Steve had seen it many times in the mirror as he practiced for the USO tours. It had become his camera smile. Bucky had hated it, said it made his eyes look flat. Steve hadn't really known what that meant, but Bucky had known him best.

Seeing that smile on Bucky's face, Steve finally understood, and he wondered what kind of life had given TJ, this man who looked to much like his best friend, a bright camera smile with miserable, dead eyes.

~*~*~*~*~

TJ was tired. Really tired. But he was so glad to be out of DC, even if it was only for a day. Of course he didn't show any of that. Couldn't show it. Not in public. Not with all the bad press he had been getting lately. Not with his mother gearing up to run against Collier in two years. Two more years of an even lower circle of hell than he usually resided in.

So when someone grabbed him and started calling him names, he was not too happy.

He yanked his arm back and snapped, “No, man, I'm not a bucky. Now hands off.” What a time to not have the secret service guys with him.

But then the arm grabber started stammering out an apology, and TJ got a good look at him. Damn, but the guy was hot. He had this classic, clean-cut look to him that TJ really wanted to just put his hands all over and mess up. He was blond, maybe even a real blond, had massive shoulders hidden by a blue checked button up with the sleeves rolled up showing off fabulous forearms, and was wearing khaki slacks. His hair was longish and neatly combed to one side, and TJ thought he saw a hint of blue eyes when the guy had grabbed him. Altogether he was a gorgeous contradiction of polite and bold. TJ was instantly in lust and wondered how he could get this guy home with him without it turning into a news story.

Coffee. Coffee first. “It's okay,” he turned the charm on. “Buy me a coffee, and it's all forgiven.”

And the guy... blushed… just a little, a hint of pink on his cheekbones, and agreed. Was he even for real? He couldn't be, but TJ wanted him anyway.

Well, TJ wanted him a little less when after they sat down, he wouldn't even give TJ a last name. How was that even fair. He could be a serial killer or, even worse, a reporter. But still, the guy was hot; TJ could still work at him.

"Steve... Do I get a last name?" he tried once more. Without a last name there was no way this was happening, gorgeous or not.

“Just Steve,” the guy snapped.

Hell no. “Oh, come on now. You know my last name. Can’t I get yours?”

And then the guy had the nerve to act like he didn't know TJ, hadn't seen his face plastered all over newspapers, magazines, and the internet since his father entered the White House. “Really?” TJ said. The guy looked confused, really confused. And still sad. And a little lost. And his eyes were really, really blue, and they looked really, really honest. They left TJ feeling floaty and hopeful. Maybe Steve really didn't know who TJ was.

He decided to go with it. “All right then. I'm just TJ. It's nice to meet you, just Steve.” It was weird; TJ didn't think he had ever talked with someone who didn't already know who he was by reputation. And if Steve was telling the truth... That tiny part of him that hadn't been smashed away by politics and drugs really wanted Steve to be telling the truth. TJ shoved the thought away. If Steve was lying, then he would just deal with it the way he had dealt with everything else.

The waitress arrived at their table. She was pretty, with blond hair in a nice up-do, and she smiled at Steve liked she knew him. Fumbling a bit when she recognized TJ, she asked what he wanted to order. He figured he'd stick with a simple cup of coffee.

Now Steve was looking at TJ with an odd look, like he just figured something out and was determined to stick with it. The resolved look oddly suited him; made him look all noble. Though he still looked sad. “So, I'm guessing you're famous or something?” Steve said.

TJ laughed. Or something. “Yeah, just a little. Though,” he shifted a bit, “it is nice meeting someone who doesn't know who I am.”

Steve said, “I know what you mean.”

And now the guy was screwing with him. TJ didn't know whether to be amused or pissed off at the attempt at sympathy. “I'm sure you do.”

That got him a little quirk of a smile and an 'I see what you did there, and you're not funny' look. It seemed well practiced. “I'm kind of well known where I work. It can be... stifling when everyone around you expects you to act a certain way. And when you don't, people seem... betrayed, almost. Like you're letting them down by being yourself. Like they know who you should be better than you do, and how dare you contradict that.”

Wow. TJ could still remember that woman who had done her best to hammer TJ’s media persona into a careful mold. She had straight blond hair that he knew was dyed because he could see the dark roots barely growing in. Her voice was sing-song and irritating to listen to. He wanted to go play the piano, but he had to get ready, and she kept saying, 'Smile wider, Thomas, with more teeth. Look happy. There you go. You're the happy, cheerful brother. Douglas is the serious one. You can't go around without a smile!'

“And now that I'm out here,” Steve continued, “it's like a breath of fresh air, but an icy, cold one, that makes your lungs burn. Because while no one knows me, I don't know anyone either. And it's. Quiet.”

He was staring up and to TJ’s left, and he stayed silent and sad until the waitress came with the coffee. Steve jumped when she set TJ's cup down. “I'm sorry.”

“No, man,” TJ said after waving the waitress off. “I guess you do understand. I'm wondering if I understand you.”

Steve huffed. “Not many people do.”

“So, where were you-” TJ tried and jumped when his phone started ringing. He looked at the screen. It was Doug, probably wondering where he was and why he wasn't back at the hotel already. “Damn it.” He hit end.

“Do you need to-” Steve said.

“No it's just my brother. He-” TJ cut off when his phone rang again. “Sorry, I-”

“Go ahead.” Steve waved a hand.

Damn it, Doug. “What?” TJ said into the phone.

“Where are you? You can't just take off like this, TJ,” came the predictable, lecturing tone of voice that Doug used on TJ when he was feeling particularly stressed. Just another part of campaigning that TJ loved.

“I'm having coffee,” TJ said.

“Why-” Doug began.

“I will be back at the hotel soon. I'm not destroying anything or causing a scandal.” TJ hung up and looked back to Steve. He suppressed a cry of dismay at seeing that Steve had finished his coffee and was packing away a tiny notebook and pencil. “Do you have to leave?”

Steve looked a little startled. “I thought you had to. I don't want to trouble you any more than I already have by grabbing you off the street.”

TJ laughed. “I really didn't mind. Look, do you want to-” And his phone started ringing again. He ended the call. “Steve-”

Steve had risen to his feet and set a few bills in the middle of the table. “I'm sorry to have bothered you, TJ. You obviously have somewhere to be, and I don't want to be in the way. Thank you for-”

“Can I at least have your number?” TJ interrupted, digging out his phone.

“My what? Oh, my phone number. Sure.” Steve recited his number and pulled out his own phone. It was old, and he flipped it open with his other hand rather than his thumb. “What is-”

TJ sent Steve a text. “There you go. That way I don't have to say mine out-loud.”

“Ah,” said Steve. “That's. Okay.” They stood there. Steve seemed torn, moving his gaze from his own feet, to TJ's hands, and to the street behind TJ. After a moment, he looked back at TJ and stared, like he was hungry for something but knew he could never have it. Finally, he pulled the corners of his mouth up in one of the saddest smiles TJ had ever seen. Steve nodded once and turned down the street.

As Steve walked away, TJ took his turn to stare. At the broad, heavy shoulders. At the straight spine and slightly bowed head. TJ wondered and opened his mouth to call out. To say anything before Steve was too far away.

TJ's phone rang.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's chapter 2. I'm super nervous about this one. TJ has been such a pain to write. I think I'm getting a better handle on his character though. Please let me know what you think. Beta read by Nat (mcrdoctorwho).

Like most of the SHIELD agents that were aware of Steve's... circumstances (not that there were many), the psychiatrist that he was supposed to be having a session with, Dr. White, seemed to think that Steve was a rigid, closed-minded meathead who was only good for throwing his shield and looking patriotic in front of a camera. Steve found that as useful as it was insulting. 

This psychiatrist in particular thought that Steve was apprehensive about the “new roles for women here in the twenty-first century” and liked to talk endlessly to Steve about it without seeming to realize that he sounded just as patronizing and bigoted as some of the worst from the 1940s. Also, he had somehow come to the conclusion that he was Steve's only available source for this information and used their entire hour long session to lecture Steve about it twice a week.

Honestly, did the guy actually know anything about Steve’s history? Had they forgotten he served with Peggy? A woman who would have given Dr. White the most scathing dressing down for some of the things he had said so far and then punched him in the face if he gave her more lip. Steve would have be glad to see it; it had been hilarious the first time. He almost wanted to remind Dr. White of Peggy’s place in the military but held back for fear that cause him to say even more garbage, and Steve was entirely too tired for that. 

He wondered, as Dr. White droned on about women in military positions, what SHIELD would do if he just stopped coming to these sessions. He'd had his own apartment now for almost two weeks. And though he didn't doubt that SHIELD had it under surveillance, he hadn't seen any signs of SHIELD actually restricting where he wanted to go. He hadn't even seen Fury in three weeks. When Steve had been given the apartment, no one had ever asked if he wanted the 'learning' sessions to continue after he left. He had just gotten a schedule, all the apartment information, personal identification, and bank accounts, as well as the 'request' to keep his head down.

Well, Steve wasn't normally one to keep his head down, but here in the future everything was so different and yet the same. It was exhausting, and the quiet and the nightmares were starting to get to him. Steve hadn't lived alone in... Had he ever lived alone? 

There was his mother. And Bucky's parents after she died. Then Bucky a month later when they decided to share an apartment. Steve had been alone the months Bucky had been away at basic training, but Bucky had asked all their neighbors to check in on him. So, after getting home from work, Mrs. Mullins had often dropped by with “just some leftovers” she didn't want to go to waste with her husband overseas, and Mrs. Conner had often asked him to look after her children for a few hours on the weekends. They were just the most frequent. After Bucky got his orders, Steve went to basic training, then the USO tours, and finally the two years with Bucky and the Commandos. And now...

He was so tired. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of having dreams where the Commandos were laughing and Bucky was smiling only to wake up and realize they're gone all over again. His hands were tired of breaking so many punching bags. Steve wanted to run. Run and run and keep running until he was back in 1945. Or at least back in the ice where he hadn't realized he was freezing in the cold, cold quiet.

Steve would settle for someone to talk to. Someone he didn't have to lie to. Someone who didn't stare at him like they expected him to start lecturing them on how to be a proper American. Someone he could tell things to, and they wouldn't be surprised or judgmental. He could tell them that he was so cold and numb inside that sometimes he thought that he must still be trapped in the ice. Tell them that he was dying because there was no army he could join to go overseas, no plane to jump out of, no HYDRA to take revenge on. There was not even a place to look for Bucky's body because even if he could dig through miles of snow and ice, it had been seventy years. Seventy years, and there wasn't anything of Bucky left. 

Nothing except the man Steve met that looked just like him. The man Steve wanted to stare at. To pick up and take to his apartment so he could pretend that things weren't horrible.

Dr. White seemed to be wrapping up this weeks lecture. Steve nodded along, still not listening. Dr. White had yet to say anything important or ask any questions, so Steve wasn't worried that he was missing anything.

As he was leaving, Steve pulled his telephone out of his jacket pocket. Dr. White often went over and didn't have a wall clock in his office. Twenty minutes after four. Steve knew he should get something for dinner, knew he needed to eat. He hadn't been sleeping or eating enough the past two weeks. 

But as he stared at the phone screen, he thought about the man who looked like Bucky. TJ. The man with Bucky's eyes and flirty attitude but with Steve's well practiced camera smile. He had seemed to understand about being famous, which was more than Steve had in common with everyone else he had met.

Steve didn't want to see TJ. Couldn't see him without feeling the burning aching loss of Bucky. But maybe Steve could write to him. TJ had sent him a message, so Steve knew this phone could text. And several sites on the internet had said that texting was the most common form of written communication. So it wouldn't seem to odd if Steve only wrote messages and never called TJ. But what to say?

Steve's stomach growled for the first time since last week when he had gone sixteen hours without eating. Alright then. Steve brought up a new message and slowly started to type out what he wanted to say.

~*~*~*~*~

TJ's parents were fighting. Again. TJ wasn't really even sure why his father was here. His mother had come home from the office early for once, though she did seem very aggravated, and she had announced to the house that she was going to be campaign planning. TJ assumed that Collier had done something extra special to break the cold war two of them had going on after Garsetti's death and intensify her desire to see him out of office.

So, while his grandmother had decided to be safe and evacuate the dining and living area, TJ stayed sitting on the couch, hoping that Elaine would say something, anything to draw him into her plans and give him something to do for her. He knew that she would never give him an important job, but anything was better than the empty... existing he'd been doing in an attempt to repay his family for covering up his latest disaster.

Doug came in after about fifteen minutes with a stack of documents and a list of topics to discuss with her. TJ watched as Doug gave Elaine the rundown of what he had been up to, and he couldn't help smiling, just a little.

Douglas. His earnest, willing, competent brother. So happy and eager to join their parents in the political arena. His twin. The one TJ should be closest to but was just as distanced from as everyone else. His Dougie, who he had tried to shelter from the media spotlight when they had been young. Dougie had hated talking to the interviewers; he would stutter and mumble and look anywhere but the place he was meant to. TJ had stepped up and smiled wide like their publicist had instructed him to (more teeth, Thomas); he pulled their attention to himself so Dougie could breathe. It had worked. While TJ felt like he was withering away under the constant spotlight, Dougie had blossomed in TJ's shadow and had stepped out, confident and ready to take up their family's political agenda.

And TJ just sat here, small and hollow, hungry and needing, needing, needing... something. Needing, while here in his mother's lavish home with his family who loved him. He felt selfish and ungrateful. Wanting while he had so much already, while he had been given so much.

Bud arrived about a half hour into Elaine and Doug's campaign planning, loud and boisterous, full of ideas that had to be said right then. He interrupted Doug with his usual disregard for the previous conversation and restarted the old argument of when Elaine should resign and announce her intentions to run against Collier. It had been a recurring debate since the day after Doug and Anne eloped, and TJ was tired of hearing it. Bud thought it should be done now, the sooner the better. Elaine wanted to wait. First she had waited in respect to Garcetti. Now she had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before Collier had another near screw-up like he had the night the President had died, and she wouldn't be there to rescue him (a fact she had ranted about many times).

Bud was just about to reiterate the usual, “But, sugar, you can't ever know if the public is going to wrap you in with what ever mess he manages to create. It's better to-” when TJ's text alert went off and sent vibrations along TJ's back leg.

Who was messaging him? He knew it wasn't the guys at the nightclub. They had gotten what they needed from him and hadn't spoken to him in the five weeks since the club opening except to send TJ his portion of the profits.

He fished out his phone and was surprised to see 'Hot Coffee Guy - Steve' on the screen. TJ hadn't expected to hear from Steve with how eager the guy seemed to be to get away after Doug's call had interrupted them.

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: Hi, TJ. This is Steve. I hope I'm not bothering you, but it has been years since I was in New York, and I haven't been back for very long and was hoping you knew of any good Italian restaurants to try. Thank you. (4:38PM, Sept. 10)

TJ stared at what had to be one of the oddest messages he had ever received. Why was he asking about restaurants? Didn't he know how to look up reviews? Why was he assuming TJ knew good restaurants in New York when he lived in DC? Well, TJ had met the guy in New York... But it was still a weird thing to text a near stranger he met on the street. If it was just an excuse to talk, it was a strange one.

He didn't have anything better to do, and the guy had been interesting.

Hi, Steve. I know of a few places. But it depends on how classy you want to go for. Got a hot date or something? (4:41PM, Sept. 10)

Bud and Elaine had finished their argument and now had their heads bend over a stack of papers on the dining-room table. Doug was back on the phone and pacing as he spoke.

TJ's stomach growled; talking about restaurants was reminding him that he hadn't eaten in a while. Finally he got a reply.

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: No, I'm not going on a date. I'd just like to eat something I haven't cooked for myself. I'm not much for classy. Small but good would suit me best. (4:49PM, Sept. 10)

Small. Crap. TJ didn't really know any small places in New York. Most of his time there consisted of fancy restaurants, fancy hotels, fancy ballrooms, and seedy nightclubs. TJ couldn't really see Steve being comfortable in any of those places. He was too... too something. TJ would suggest Marea, but it was definitely classy. He chewed on his lip.

Sorry I can't help you out. I don't actually live in NYC and all the places that I know of are pretty high brow. You couldn't find anything you wanted to try online? (4:51PM, Sept. 10)

TJ hit send and immediately wanted to take it back. What was he doing admitting that he didn't know how to help? Would Steve even reply? TJ stood up from the couch and hurried up the stairs to his bedroom. His family didn't say anything as he left.

Up in his room, TJ reached to run his fingers through his hair and promptly smacked himself in the head with his phone.

Sighing, he dropped himself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He shouldn't be getting worked up over some random guy. It was ridiculous. Just. Breathe.

TJ wanted a cigarette.

He jumped again when his phone went off.

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: I didn't use computers much when I was overseas. The one I was given seems to be pre-loaded with what my employer thought I needed to know, and Italian restaurants were not on the approved list. I will have to see about getting a new computer. And a new phone. And a new apartment. (5:07PM, Sept. 10)

TJ wasn't sure what to think about that. The information was kind of disturbing. Did Steve work for the government, or was he involved with something worse? The comment about a new apartment made TJ apprehensive.

That's pretty messed up, Steve. Do you need any help? I can't do much, but my family is pretty important. If you're trapped or something, they could help. (5:09PM, Sept. 10)

TJ's lip was starting to get sore from all the chewing. He forced himself to stop.

The reply was a little faster this time.

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: Thanks, but there's not much they could do to me that I eventually couldn't get out of. Now that I know they can restrict the computer like that, I'll be on the lookout for it. There's just so much to learn. (5:17PM, Sept. 10)

That sounded... troubling. He hoped that Steve really didn't have to worry about people... doing things to him. Though he did sound confident. Maybe it wasn't that bad? But the learning thing...

What do you mean? Have you been living under a rock or something? Where overseas were you? (5:18PM, Sept. 10)

After hitting send, he grabbed a pillow, shoved it over his face, and groaned. Was he really this desperate for something to do? But, as short as it had lasted, it had been nice talking to someone new, someone who seemed to have no expectations.

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: Something like that. I was all over the place. England, France, Italy, Germany, Poland. I didn't have much in the way of luxuries though. (5:25PM, Sept. 10)

Wow, that was... Steve had been to quite a few countries. He probably was army or something then. That would explain his confidence, but weren't people in the military supposed to follow orders? Did he get out? Were they trying to bring him back in for some reason?

“Ow!” TJ brought a hand up to his bottom lip. His fingers came away red. Stupid lip chewing. He leaned back on the bed and took a deep breath. Stop worrying. There's nothing you can do. Steve said he has it covered. He quickly wrote something.

Huh. So you grew up under a rock. Don't worry. I'll help you out. ;) ( 5:29PM, Sept. 10)

Crap. Was that too flirty? Steve hadn't responded much to it when they had met at the cafe. TJ didn't want to scare him off.

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: That sounds swell! I am a fast learner. Maybe I'll be helping you out soon. (5:34PM, Sept. 10)

Did Steve really just...

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: After all, I'm getting a pretty good handle on this fancy, newfangled phone. So much faster than telegrams. (5:34PM, Sept. 10)

TJ laughed and rolled over on the bed to his stomach.

I can't tell you if you're screwing with me. You are, aren't you? If you're not, we definitely have some things to talk about. (5:35PM, Sept. 10)

He couldn't stop smiling as he typed the text. His lip hurt, but he really didn't care. Steve was turning out to be...

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: I guess you'll just have to wonder. ;) How about Wendy's? Do they have good food? (5:36PM, Sept. 10)

Wendy's. TJ couldn't remember the last time he'd been there. He was pretty sure he had gone to one, though.

You went from Italian to Wendy's? Alright then. I guess they're alright for a fast-food place. (5:37PM, Sept. 10)

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: Great. I'm starving. (5:36PM, Sept. 10)

Now that he thought about it, TJ hungry was too. Really, really hungry. Was his mother planning on having dinner here, or were she and Doug going back out to eat? Elaine didn't often cook when she was in campaign mode like she had been downstairs.

Yeah, I should get something to eat too. (5:37PM, Sept. 10)

TJ sat up and started looking around for his wallet. He was craving burgers now.

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: Get to it then. Thanks for your help. I'll write you later? (5:38PM, Sept. 10)

'Write' to you? Really, Steve.

Talk to you later. (5:38PM, Sept. 10)

From Hot Coffee Guy - Steve: Got it. Talk to you later, too. (5:39PM, Sept. 10)

TJ stared at the message and smiled. Later meant he was going to message again. Later meant he wanted to talk again.

He opened his contacts list and found Steve's entry. There was no need for the 'Hot Coffee Guy' part. TJ was pretty sure he'd never forget who this Steve was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi, this is a WIP, and I am a bit of a perfectionist, so I do go back through earlier chapters and edit stuff. I changed a few little things in chapter 2 this time. :)
> 
> Also, for the sake of Steve's sanity, let's imagine that TJ Hammond and Bucky Barnes just look really similar and not identical like we (the readers) know they do. Let's pretend that in this fic if someone were to put a photo of Bucky next to one of TJ they'd say, 'wow, they could be twins they look so much alike' not 'what the hell, they are identical, has human cloning happened???' 
> 
> Much thanks to monsterchildseer (aka charlottesometimes) for swapping PA meta with me. It helped so much with TJ.
> 
> Beta read by Nat (mcrdoctorwho). Thanks! :D

It was like the night President Garcetti died all over again. Bud was yelling at someone on the phone, and TJ and his grandmother were sitting on the couch watching the news in shock. Exactly the same except so much worse.

The horror that the cameramen were able to record left TJ in stunned silence. Whale things the size of skyscrapers were lumbering through the air, knocking into and through buildings. Other, smaller... things were speeding through the air and shooting at people as they tried to escape the streets of New York. Every once and a while the video would change to cellphone footage or to a different cameraman as the current one had to run in fear for their lives.

It was like a syfy movie, alien invasion and everything, complete with a group of heroes to fight them off. TJ recognized the red and gold of Iron Man zipping through the sky, but there was also a man in a red cape flying around and summoning lightning, as well as a hugely muscled, green man leaping from building to building and pummeling the aliens with his fists. A few minutes ago, the anchorwoman said there were reports of a woman, a man with a bow, and someone running around dressed like Captain America.

It was all insane.

TJ wondered what six people could do against the thousands of aliens coming through the hole in the sky. He knew the police were there helping, but it looked like they were mainly doing crowd control. Very little seemed to stop the aliens besides the powerful fists, bombs, and lightning from the three men TJ had see flinging themselves through the air at the creatures. It all seemed terrifyingly hopeless.

Elaine and Doug had been called to the White House as soon as the aliens had been spotted entering New York from above Stark Tower. TJ hoped that they could get the National Guard or someone with weapons bigger that the handguns the police were using, but so far...

“Look, TJ,” Margaret said, pulling TJ's attention back to the television. It was now showing the backs of Army tanks and soldiers with assault rifles on the streets, headed towards the fighting.

“Finally,” said Bud. “It's been over an hour. Did they have to make the damn tanks? Maybe now something'll get done.”

TJ just looked on, helplessness churning in his stomach. He had sent a message to Steve when everything first started, but so far there was no reply. Not that he really expected one. The guy was probably glued to his TV too.

But... TJ had meet Steve at that cafe a few blocks from Stark Tower, right where the worst of the fighting seemed to be. He didn't want to say he was worried, but he was worried.

Steve and TJ had swapped a few more texts since that first conversation. Nothing deep or meaningful; just fun and relaxing. Steve had a way of sending the most random messages about food, technology, or social things that always caught TJ off guard. They were pretty lighthearted, but they always left TJ wondering what Steve was up to. The last text had been asking about kale.

TJ wanted to ask Steve more about himself but felt like it would presume too much. He hadn't even seen the guy again, and Steve hadn't mentioned wanting to see TJ. It was kind of sad, because TJ did like Steve and wouldn't mind seeing how things could go. Then again it was freeing to not even think about it. If Steve ever did sound like he wanted to hook up, TJ would have to look deeper into Steve's past, and that would probably be disappointing for everyone.

And TJ would have to look into him, find out Steve's last name at the very least; TJ couldn't afford any scandals, not with his mother so close to entering the public view as a potential presidential candidate. He had already messed up enough; he needed to keep his head down. After everything his family had done for him, even with all his screw-ups, the least he could do was try not cause scandals when things seemed to be going well for them. No mistakes, he silently told to himself. You're doing good; no mistakes.

Yeah, he thought, Let's save the 'Mom, come rescue me' card for when I really need it. Wouldn't want to have another 'stunt' happen like at the club, not when she's getting ready to campaign. He did his best to ignore the tiny poisonous thought that said she had never really helped him when he had actually needed it and that maybe another 'stunt' wouldn't be such a bad thing.

That nagging, itching sensation in the back of his head was growing. That feeling that said everything that hurt, all the bitterness and loneliness that he felt stabbing into him whenever his family left him or forgot him or ignored him, all of that stuff could go away, and he could finally feel good, be not miserable for once, be happy. At least as close to happy as TJ was likely to feel in his lifetime.

Stop it. No mistakes. Be good.

Back on the TV screen, channel 21 News was reporting on the 'Attack in Midtown Manhattan.' Someone must have changed it again because now the footage was live.

“The streets of New York City have become a battleground,” the reporter said. “The Army is here trying to contain the violence, but clearly it is outmatched.” She was interrupted by several explosions happening about four blocks away. “And I have to say in all my years of reporting, I have never seen anything like this. We have limited information on the team, but we do know that billionaire Tony Stark's Iron Man-”

Again she was interrupted, but this time it was by another whale things crashing into a building. The thundering rumble could be heard clearly over the sudden absence of gun and tank shots. Then cheering started.

“They've done it,” the reporter said. “All of the attackers have fallen; they've just collapsed. We don't know who yet, but someone seems to have closed the opening above Stark Tower.” The footage changed to the clear blue sky above the tower, no longer marred by the bright blue beam shooting up into the air.

Wow. TJ leaned back into the couch, took a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his hair. Margaret and Bud were adding their own cheers to those on screen.

TJ couldn't though. He was glad the horrible mess was over, but now that it was, he felt a sinking in his stomach. They had just been attacked by aliens. It had to be aliens; what else could it be? There was no way any enemy on Earth could hide something as big as those floating whales. And they had been saved by a huge jumping green guy and someone who could fly around in a red cape.

Things were going to change now. Really change. More than they had after Iron Man and after who knows how many other events that had been covered up. This was what his mother had been waiting for. How the people and President reacted to this tragedy was going to determine Elaine's next move. Was she going to suck it up and work with Collier, or was he going to something where she would have no choice but to resign?

Whatever it was, it would be big and country changing. And TJ knew his family would, as usual, get swept up in it. Elaine would ride the wave like she had since divorcing Bud. Doug would struggle to keep up with her and make it though. Margaret wouldn't care; she would keep doing her own thing. But TJ already felt like he was drowning, struggling to keep his head above water long enough to take a breath, and he had a feeling that things would only get worse.

~*~*~*~*~

Stark had made it; he had made it out. And the Hulk had caught him. Steve ran over to where Stark was lying, nearly stumbling in relief that he wasn't responsible for losing another teammate.

“Is he breathing?” Steve asked. Stark hadn't said anything, hadn't filled the silence like he usually did with his chatter.

Thor ripped of the battered gold faceplate, but it wasn't Stark's face under the mask. It was Bucky's.

Bucky's lips were blue and frosted. His brows and lashes were crusted with ice.

“No! No, no, no.” Steve shook Bucky's shoulders; the blue jacket was stiff with the cold. “Bucky!” He could hear the racket and clank of a train on its rails, the wind howling through the mountains, and just barely above that, Steve could hear Bucky's scream as he fell. “Bucky!”

Bucky's eyes snapped open. “Why didn't you catch me, Steve?”

Wind and snow stung as it whipped across Steve's cheeks. “Bucky...” His voice was weak. “I tried to-”

“You didn't try hard enough.”

The train rocked beneath Steve's feet.

Bucky was standing next to the blasted out opening in the side of the car. “You're never enough, Steve. You couldn't make it through when we went to enlist together. You weren't there when Hydra was torturing me. And you can't catch me.” Bucky fell.

“Bucky!” Steve gasped as he woke. His eyes were burning with tears, and he panted as Bucky's screams rang through his ears.

Looking around the room, he went through one of the few exercises the SHIELD therapists had given him that worked. Go through what you know.

“It is 2012. I am on the helicarrier. My team and I saved New York from aliens.” Steve gave a small wet laugh at that one. “No one on my new team is dead. They all made it.”

He rolled over to the edge of the bed and let his feet hit the floor. It was cold textured metal. He flipped the light-switch beside his bunk and rested his forearms on his knees. His hands were shaking.

“We went to eat Shawarma together.” Steve took a deep breath. “Shawarma tastes pretty good.” Not that he'd had much. Everyone except Thor and Stark had been too tired to eat more than a few bites. Steve had actually been glad that SHIELD agents had showed up and kept people from taking pictures and video of them. Though he figured that it had been mostly so that Romanov and Barton could still do missions for SHIELD, Steve wasn't really ready for the world to know him as Captain America.

The SHIELD provided ride back to the helicarrier had also been helpful. Stark and Banner hadn't taken the offer, but Steve had been glad to have a place to sleep. He was pretty sure his apartment building had been destroyed, or at least he would have a very difficult time getting to it.

Steve tried to stand up and almost fell over. He sat back down and put his head between his knees as lightheadedness nearly made him lose what little he had eaten. He was hungry, but he didn't want to find the SHIELD cafeteria. He was so tired still, but he really didn't want to try to sleep some more.

Tears threatened to make another appearance. He did not want to cry; he hated crying. He hadn’t even cried when- 

He looked up at the ceiling and took breath. “Tomorrow, or maybe today, I am meeting with my team to discuss what to do with Loki and the Tesseract.” He laughed unhappily. “Maybe this time I won't say such horrible, ridiculous things to Stark.”

What the hell had he been thinking?

'We have orders. We should follow them.'

Steve had never followed orders. Colonel Phillips had given him enough unimpressed looks about going AWOL to rescue what should have been a dead man. Steve had missed his own medal award ceremony, and the Commandos had a running joke that Phillips never gave them strict mission perimeters because he knew Steve would just throw them out the window if the slightest need presented itself.

And Steve had been giving Stark grief about breaking into a spy organization that Steve himself had caught limiting the information they had allowed him access to. He knew SHIELD had been monitoring him. Steve didn't trust them. So what had possessed him to be angry at Stark for doing something Steve should have done but had been unable to? Thankfully he had gotten some sense back after leaving the lab; maybe it had been Loki's scepter making everyone act hostile. But that was no excuse for Steve to say any of that garbage to Stark.

'Take that off, what are you?'

Take the uniform and the muscles away, what was Steve? He was no longer an angry, bitter young man with something to prove. Stuck with a constantly failing body and a medical file inches thick. Saved only by maintaining a polite facade and strict morals about what was right and somehow, against everything rational, inspiring Bucky Barnes, the greatest man Steve knew, to be his friend.

No, Steve didn't have any of that now. He was so much worse. Cold and wounded. Trapped in a Captain America shell that had been created by a politician and maintained throughout history by people with an agenda. Angry at himself and lashing out at the people who should be his teammates.

Maybe the scepter had made him say those things, but they had been inside him all along. Burning their way through him, growing in that tiny place inside that he did his best to smother out of existence. That place that told him to just sit down and let others take care of it. That it was alright to listen to Fury, that following orders was not a bad thing. It was okay because he was tired. Because the future was no different than where he came from. Some bad things had gotten better, but others had gotten worse. And most was just the same, except dressed in different clothes.

Steve leaned his forehead on his palms and grabbed his hair, pulling just enough to sting. He hated the future. Hated it almost as much as he hated himself. Hated what he'd become. This symbol that everyone thought they knew and had a right to use. A front, pretending to be a hero only to lash out and say things to others that he wanted to say to himself.

He didn't know what to do. He'd thought things were getting better, there in that moment, pumped up by the relief that the battle was over and Stark was alive.

But now. It was cold. And dark, with only the bedside lamp giving any light. Steve could hear the sound of wind in his ears, and Bucky's final scream. He pulled his hair harder, rocking back and forth.

A beep noise made him jump. It was soft but seemed to echo in the quiet room.

Steve stood up, looked around. He didn't see anything that... It beeped again. From his jacket.

Oh. It was his phone. It showed low battery on the screen. He flipped it open and the display said that he had two text messages.

TJ: Are you alright? Tell me that you didn't go to that cafe today. (1:58PM, Sept. 14)

TJ: You're not okay are you? shit (2:36PM, Sept. 14)

Steve sniffed. TJ. He took a breath.

TJ thought he was dead. He needed to fix that. Send a message.

Steve had the crazy urge to call TJ. To hear his voice.

No. A text was better.

He opened a new message. The phone went dark.

Okay. Phone charger. That was... At his apartment. Maybe someone else had one? And food. He'd go find that too. He took another deep breath. Alright then.

~*~*~*~*~

“Look,” Fury tried to explain to Thor. “I'm not saying that Loki stay here. I want him off my planet more than you want to take him. But what kind of sentence is he going to be getting? I need to be able to tell people-” He was cut off by an electronic whistle.

“Oh,” Steve said and dug into his pocket for his phone. It was probably TJ responding to his 'I am alive' text.

The room was silent. Steve looked back up. Fury's face was a hilarious combination of angry and scandalized. Stark's mouth was gaping, and everyone else had a mix of surprised and confused.

“Text.” Steve held up his phone. “I've been waiting for a reply.” He smiled as innocently as he could manage.

Stark's eyes bugged even more, and Fury started with a, “Captain Rogers-”

“No, go ahead and keep going. I'm still listening. I can multitask.” Steve turned his smile from 'who me?' to 'you've done a good job, son, but it's under control now.'

Stark seemed to regain his use of language. “Well, I'm glad you can pay attention because I am still stumbling over Capsicle getting texts as well as being captivated by that antique you're calling a phone.”

“Yes, well, I've already been informed that flip phones are a tragedy to use in this modern age of smart phones.” Steve flipped his open. “I just haven't gotten around to replacing it. You know with the whole getting caught up on sixty plus years of history, culture, and technology.” He gave Stark a sharp smile.

TJ: Really you're going with that? I'm glad you're ok I'd hate to lose one of the few people who will talk to me (10:27AM Sept. 15)

That. Didn't sound good.

“Captain Rogers,” Fury interrupted.

“Director Fury,” Steve said.

“If you would not act like some people.” Fury turned to Stark who had his tablet and phone on the boardroom table and was watching their exchange like he wanted to pull out some popcorn and start placing bets. “I really expected better from someone of your stature.”

And. That was it.

Steve stood up. “I really don't see why we're all here. I'd offer my opinion on Loki, but I doubt you'd care. You barely seem to be listening to Thor, and he's the one who actually has anything relevant to say. So. If you would excuse me.” He left to the sound of Stark slowly clapping.

As Steve headed back towards his sleeping quarters, he typed out a reply to TJ. It was a relief to try and address a problem that he might be able to solve and speak to someone who might listen to him. As opposed to the mess he just walked out of. Fury may have wanted him to lead the Avengers, but it would take a lot more work than anyone would put forth now, after just fighting a bunch of aliens. They were all exhausted and irritable, himself and Fury included.

What do you mean I'm one of the few that will talk to you? What's happened? Are you alright? (10:33AM, Sept. 15)

Steve hit send just as he heard someone jogging up behind him. He turned and saw Stark.

“Hey, Capsicle. Rogers, I mean, uh,” Stark began before trailing off and grimacing.

Gritting his teeth, because Stark seemed to be naturally abrasive, Steve decided that he had to get it over with now. “Stark. I apologize. For the things I said before the helicarrier was... boarded. I hope that we can put it behind us.”

“Yeah, no problem. I was just coming to. You know. Yeah, me too.” Stark clasped his hands in front and then behind him.

Steve laughed a little. Stark was like a child being forced to say sorry. He was just missing a patch of dirt to kick at.

The message alert went off again.

Stark jumped. “Oh!” He swallowed. “Phone! Do you want one? I mean one of mine. Not mine, mine. A Stark Phone mine. You said you wanted to replace-” He waved in the direction of Steve pocket. “-that. My phones are the best,” he finished with a cocky grin.

Steve was a little taken back. That was unexpected. “Sure,” he said carefully. “I haven't checked any brands or anything, so I'm not sure how much one would-”

“No,” Stark cut in. “I'll give you one. You can test out the new models. Really you'd be helping me out. And Thor! I'll give him one too. And Banner...” Stark trailed off and clasped his hands in front of himself again.

Huh. That was... Steve had the sudden suspicion that this was how Stark showed anything positive toward other people: by giving them things.

“Sure. That'd be great.” Steve smiled. “Thanks, Stark.”

“No problemo.” Stark waved a hand. “Just come by the Tower this afternoon or tomorrow. I'll see you.” He took off like he was allergic to the conversation, looking disgruntled and panicky.

Amused, Steve turned back to TJ's message. But after reading it, he quickly lost his lighter mood.

TJ: No yes I shit (10:36AM, Sept. 15)

Steve sent back,  TJ. What is wrong? Please tell me. (10:41AM, Sept. 15) , and continued to walk towards his sleeping quarters. He wanted out of here. He wanted to help TJ and solve his own problems. Not worry about SHIELD and Loki and that damn cube.

TJ: I'm a screw up nothing new (10:42AM, Sept. 15)

Waving his ID at the door to his quarters, he typed, You may have done something bad, but you're not a screw up. I just had to apologize for something I did. We all make mistakes. (10:43AM, Sept. 15)

Steve started gathering up his things, not that there was much. Just his jacket, uniform, and shield. He put on the jacket but left the uniform folded on the bunk. He didn't know what he was going to do now, but he wouldn't be wearing a uniform for it. Not now anyway, not feeling so... conflicted. He kept his shield though. He had just gotten it back and wasn't about to give it up.

Though, no need to be too obvious. He slipped his jacket back off and wrapped the shield in it. It looked a little silly, but it was less of a noticeable target.

The phone whistled.

TJ: I've already apologized enough no one even know I did it this time but this damn house is still so empty I hate it (10:46 AM, Sept. 15)

Another whistle.

TJ:  I don't even know (10:47AM, Sept. 15)

TJ: I wish (10:47AM, Sept. 15)

TJ:  I don't know how I got to be here and I can't get out away anywhere else I want to be happy (10:47AM, Sept. 15)

That was... Steve didn't know how he got here either and didn't know if he could get out. If SHIELD would let him out. What he would do if he got out? He had thought he was out before the attack, but. Now he realized that he had just been trapped in New York. Trapped in trying to find some part of the past he lost.

It probably wasn't anything like TJ was going through, but he decided to be as honest as he could.

I don't know how I got here either. And I trapped myself trying to find something to hold onto. I want to be happy too. I don't think I can do that in New York. I know my situation is not the same... But if we want to be happy, we have to go find it. It won't come to us. (10:51AM, Sept. 15)

Steve and the phone were quiet for a while. He sat on the bed and thought. Thought about happiness and Bucky and how the two were tied together so tightly that Steve was finding it hard to figure out how to be happy without Bucky.

He sent another message, What makes you happy? I lost what made me happy, and I'm having a hard time finding something else. (11:02AM, Sept. 15)

TJ: My family makes me happy and they make me not happy. (11:04AM, Sept. 15)

Steve smiled sadly.

TJ:  Piano used to make me happy I want it back (11:04AM, Sept. 15)

He replied,  I don't know about your family. All families are complicated. But for your piano, if you want it, go get it back. Don't let anyone take your happiness away. As for me,

Steve remembered when he and Bucky had talked about what they wanted to do after the war. Steve had spoken about marrying Peggy and finding a place where they could live right next to Bucky and whoever he married.

But Bucky had said, “First, Steve, first we have to go see things. Redwood forests, gulf stream waters... All the rest of the song. Supposed to be gorgeous. And the Grand Canyon. 'Timeless wonder,' they say, 'Puts everything in perspective.' Then we can settle down with your girl.”

He continued,  I want to go see the Grand Canyon. (11:08AM, Sept. 15)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between Steve and Bucky about the Grand Canyon was from the Captain America comic "Man Out of Time."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by Nat (mcrdoctorwho). 
> 
> Here are links to the pieces TJ plays:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juLRqSV45vo (skip to 26 seconds)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5H4BrOJlCfQ  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7H1Rzn3Gwc  
> Pretty much just listen to the first minute or two to get the gist. Though of course listen to the entire piece if you like classical. I love the Mozart in particular. 
> 
> As always, please let me know if you find any issues. I can always use extra eyes. ;D

TJ stared at Steve's last text. _I don't know about your family. All families are complicated. But for your piano, if you want it, go get it back. Don't let anyone take your happiness away. As for me, I want to go see the Grand Canyon. (11:08AM, Sept. 15)_

He was sitting in the corner of his room, the farthest away from the door. He'd shoved the armchair out of the way to make room for the comforter and pillows from the bed and wrapped himself in them. With a half full bottle of vodka in one hand and his phone in the other, his eyes were fixed on the text.

_But for your piano, if you want it, go get it back. Don't let anyone take your happiness away._

The townhouse was empty. Had been since who knows when last night. Bud had taken off sometime early yesterday evening, and Margaret had left the house two hours ago.

_Go get it back. Don't let anyone take your happiness away._

After three weeks of 'doing well,' as Elaine called it, since the overdose, TJ's family had lightened up on their restrictions for him. Alcohol was back in the house; the secret service had stopped denying him permission to leave. In the wake of Elaine's upcoming campaign, all worry and concern about TJ's second near death seemed to have left everyone mind. TJ had been back to the club two weeks ago, visited his 'friends.' Everything was back to normal.

_Don't let anyone take your happiness away._

TJ knew that last night had been a preview of the upcoming months. The next big catastrophe. His family rushing off to deal with the political fallout and figure out how to come out on top. Nana writing everyone off and going to do her own thing. Leaving TJ sitting alone and trying his best to drown out the silence and emptiness their absence had left.

_Your happiness._

TJ staggered up to his feet, setting his phone hand on the armchair so he wouldn’t spill the liquor. He took a step towards the door, almost fell, then took another. _Happiness_.

The last time he’d been happy. He steadied himself with one hand on the second armchair and took a long swallow of vodka. Don’t think about that.

The last time he’d been happy playing the piano. He took another drink. Don’t think about that either.

He took another step forward, braced himself on the next piece of furniture, the corner table, and jumped slightly when his phone clanked on the hard surface. _Don't let anyone take your happiness away._

Sean. That was the last time he’d been happy playing the piano. Sean.

TJ gritted his teeth. He was tired of losing his happiness. Sean had taken himself away, but TJ would not let him take TJ’s piano as well.

More determined, TJ made his way out of his bedroom and down the stairs, weaving through the furniture to the piano.

It was beautiful. TJ had always loved the dark, gleaming wood. He lifted the cover protecting the keys and brushed his fingertips along the smooth black and white.

Setting the phone on the sheet music shelf and the vodka on the floor, TJ lifted the piano’s lid and braced it with the lid prop. He gazed down into the belly of the piano, looked at all the strings and moving pieces. He pressed a key and watched the string vibrate. Lovely.

Shaking his head slightly, he sat down on the bench and glanced back at Steve’s text. _If you want it, go get it back._ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Running through his music library, he picked a piece and brought his fingers down on the keys.

Mozart. Piano sonata number eleven. K331. Third movement, Alla Turca - Allegretto. The Turkish March.

TJ remembered the first time he heard it. He and Doug had been six, and their mother had been in her music lessons phase. Violin first, then piano and several more after that. For several years they would get months of lessons in one instrument before moving on to another as Elaine tried to nurture and develop skills in them from a young age. Doug hated them all, but TJ loved it. Especially the piano.

The Turkish March had been the song their piano teacher had played to spur their interest, and it had worked for TJ. He had been enthralled.

Quick, nimble notes with the right hand while the left slowly sped up, doing more until. TJ brought his right hand down hard on the keys, fingers spread wide, as he beat out the next section of the melody.

They had been six, and Dougie had already started to develop a distaste for constantly being compared to TJ. TJ who seemed to be naturally better at everything their mother had them try. Of course they were so young that there was no way to tell if TJ was actually better than Doug, but TJ picked things up faster in school and with lessons, and he was the first to be picked in games. TJ would always pull Dougie along with him, and Dougie never lagged behind, always was able to keep up. But TJ was just a little better.

So when that first day of piano was over, TJ was sore fingers and wide smiles from playing scales, and Dougie was frowns and sulks because he couldn’t figure out why TJ was so happy doing something Dougie thought was so boring.

After that, TJ had downplayed his enthusiasm for the piano. The instructor had been sad, but Dougie had been happier and more likely to complain to TJ about how tiring the lessons were then run to their mother with frustrated tears. A few months later, piano lessons stopped, and they moved on to the next instrument.

But TJ had learned enough by that point that he would sneak out of his room at night and play the piano. He loved it. Loved having something that was all his own, not his mother’s or father’s, not something that came from being a Hammond. Something that he could grow and learn and create beautiful things with. He would sneak sheet music and play for hours at night in the empty entertainment wing of the North Carolina governor’s mansion.

Dougie had, of course, found out. Back then, they had rarely kept secrets from each other. But by that point, the piano had turned into TJ’s secret that they hid from mom and dad and stopped being another thing TJ was better at. TJ even found duets for them to play, and Dougie would sneak out with him sometimes.

Elaine had found out when TJ was ten, too overjoyed that he had become so good to be mad that he kept it a secret. After she begged him, he played a little for the family on special occasions.

But the piano had stayed TJ’s private thing for years, known only by the family. As TJ had gotten older, though, the piano changed from a secret to a sanctuary.

TJ changed the music to a piece he had learned for its angry bass chords and fast fingerings in the first movement and the loud, dark, droning chords in the third.

Chopin. Piano sonata number 2. Op. 35. The Funeral March. He laughed a bit and smiled, sharp, angry, and with teeth.

TJ had played pieces like this one back when Bud had campaigned for his second term and his parents had started fighting. Back when TJ had stopped seeing the press as a game and something to protect Dougie from. When he had started hating the interviews and their probing questions, constantly asking how he liked being the son a President. How proud he was of his mother's latest idea for social reform. How much fun he was having on his father's second campaign for President. If he was going into politics like his parents. If he was going to law school like his parents. Everything they asked related back to his parents.

His parents who had been arguing constantly when they were away from the public. TJ had once seen them yelling at each other, and his mother had thrown a vase at his father. Before they could catch him and turn their anger towards him, he had run off to hide with the piano.

TJ had wanted to hide with Dougie and talk with him about how scary it was that their parents were fighting so much. That the few family dinners that they had were ruined with cold silence. But Doug had done a one-eighty and decided that he wasn't going to depend on TJ any more. That he wouldn't take shelter behind TJ's loud persona when in public. Doug jumped head-first into languages and government. In his determination to go into politics like their parents, he had closed himself off to TJ, and they had stopped pouring their secrets out to each other.

TJ hit the piano keys harder, banging out the loud bass chords.

He had needed to talk to Dougie then. Needed to tell someone he could trust about how scared he was about his future. How he didn't want to have anything to do with politics. How he hated that no one asked him what he wanted to do with his future; they just assumed that everything was fine as long as TJ kept smiling. He had desperately wanted to tell Dougie about how TJ would get stomach flutters when he saw Ellis Harper at school and how Senator Burgess's son made him nervous and flushed. He had been terrified that something was wrong with him, and he had been so damn lonely while Dougie was off finding himself, or whatever he had been doing.

So, just as he was doing now, TJ had poured his heart into his piano playing. Spilled all his secrets out to the music. He found new sheet music that was more difficult and challenging and would spend hours banging away at the piano to keep himself from screaming at everyone. And TJ had dreamed about what he wanted to do after he turned eighteen. Dreamed about how he would leave the political spotlight and take more lessons. He would get good enough and find a concert to play with. Become famous separate from his family. Be famous for something he did, not someone he was born as.

_Bang, bang, bang_. Panting, TJ stopped playing before he broke a piano key from hitting too hard. He hated thinking about how it had all ended. About how his piano had been used as a way to distract the media from his 'coming out' scandal. How he'd thrown away his dreams as a concert pianist because of a jealous piano teacher and his own lack of confidence.

He reached down to the vodka bottle on the floor and brought it up to his lips. He stopped, though, and looked over to the phone propped on the sheet music stand.

_Your happiness._ TJ set the bottle down. He needed to play something happier and stop dwelling on all the reasons he stopped playing. He was drawing a blank. _Happiness_. TJ tried to think of something, anything, that was separate from the misery he had surrounded himself with. His eyes drifted over to the phone.

Steve would like Mozart, TJ thought and started playing the Tenth sonata. K330. It was light. Airy. Quick notes. Bright sounds.

TJ closed his eyes and just played, fingers dancing over the keys, imagining the bright gold of Steve's hair.

 ~*~*~*~*~

TJ was shaken from his playing by the loud thump of the front door. He could hear both of his parents and Doug continuing their conversation as they came through the hall. He smiled a little, glad that his family was back and there was more noise in the house.

Elaine was the first to see TJ. She stiffened, and her eyes honed in on the half full vodka bottle.

TJ felt guilty for giving her another thing to be concerned about until she opened her mouth and said, “TJ,” in that tone of voice that he remembered too well from the night the club opened. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

Instantly, the happy vibes he’d managed to cultivate with all the piano playing and the warm feelings he had at the sight of his family coming home were cut off. _Deal with this_. That sounded a lot like “that stunt you pulled.”

And TJ hated that they could hurt him like that. Tear down his carefully created happiness, as small as it was. How was it, that the people he loved the most had managed to hurt him the most?

Closing his eyes, he tried to recapture how he had been feeling before they had come home, before saying, “You never could ‘deal with this.’”

TJ looked at his mother. Her hair was limp and just slightly messed up. She had already taken off her shoes, and she only did that when her feet were particularly sore. Her light coat was draped over one arm, and she was carrying a large stack of documents pressed to her chest. She looked tired and hurt. Like she had no idea why he had said that. Like she had no idea how much she had hurt him with one exhausted, mindless statement.

“Hey,” Bud began, always quick to defend Elaine, “don’t speak to your-”

“Well,” TJ interrupted, “lucky for you, there is nothing to deal with.” He picked up his phone and the bottle of vodka. “Haven’t had a drink for hours.” He shook the bottle.

TJ purposefully ignored what else his parents had to say as he set the still mostly full bottle on the kitchen counter and walked to the stairs. Doug, as usual, was silent. TJ didn’t have the heart to look at him. He was too sober to deal with seeing a disappointed Dougie.

_Don't let anyone take your happiness away._

His family had managed to take his away with just one sentence. If TJ really wanted to be happy and stay happy, then he was going to have to do something about that, and he was afraid that he knew what that was.

But first, he pulled out his phone and sent a message. _Played for hours. Hands hurt, but it was amazing. (3:47PM, Sept. 15)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Beta read by Nat (mcrdoctorwho). Much thanks.
> 
> Please, let me know if there are any issues that you find. Extra eyes are always helpful. I do go back through earlier chapters (and I have reposted updated versions), so if you find any issues there as well, I'll be more than happy to fix them. :D
> 
> The piano version of Bitter Sweet Symphony by the Verve. The main melody that TJ hums starts at about 40 seconds.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZef2DF5dqQ  
> I love the song, and there are beautiful instrumental versions done by a variety of artists. I like the Vitamin String Quartet's in particular. ;)

In one of the valleys of the Grand Canyon, lying back on his new sleeping bag, Steve stared up at the stars and let his mind drift over the events of the past two weeks. That last conversation with TJ had motivated both of them.

Steve had done his best to quickly wrap up all the Avengers business so he could escape New York. It seemed like when he realized how trapped he felt, that was when everything conspired to keep him there and the smothering sensation grew almost unbearable. He’d hit the road as soon as Thor and Loki went back to Asgard, anything he wanted to bring was already packed in the saddlebags of his bike. He picked up everything else he needed on the way.

One of which was this sleeping bag that was supposed to be good for very cold weather but could still wrap up to a very small size. Very handy. He had also purchased other assorted backpacking gear: collapsible water containers, high calorie and nutrient energy bars, and a few other things.

It hadn’t taken him much researching on the new phone Stark had given him (the SHIELD issued laptop had been left on the kitchen counter of his trashed apartment) to realize that as beautiful as the view from the Grand Canyon’s South Rim was, Steve really wanted to see deep into the Canyon and not look out over the top.

So here he was, smack in the middle of the trail from the South to North Rim, camping after hiking the twenty-one miles to the North Rim and turning around to hike back to where his bike was parked.

It had been a beautiful hike. So many awe inspiring views. Kind, friendly people that he passed while hiking. Quiet and relaxing after the chaos of New York and the Battle. And now here he was, surrounded by peace, animal noises, the sound of wind blowing, and the soft crackling of his campfire.

He was very lonely.

Reaching over to the left, Steve dug into his backpack for his only non-hiking related purchase: a sketchbook and pencils.

He had decided to take his own advice on happiness and had thought long and hard about what made him happy. He couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t tangled up in the people he lost, Bucky in particular.

Then he had thought of TJ’s _the piano used to make me happy_ and _I want it back_. And he thought of how much he loved drawing and being able to bring the images in his head to life on the paper. Of course half the fun had been being able to show Bucky and seeing his face light up at every new sketch. But there had been that simple joy at watching black lines join together to form a beautiful whole. So Steve had bought another sketchbook.

And here it was, on his lap, open to the first and only filled page. Bucky’s eyes stared back up at him.

Looking objectively, Steve was able to say that the portrait was one of his better ones, as rusty as he was. And it should be; he had drawn it slowly, carefully, and over the course of four days, working on it at every food and rest stop he made on his way west.

Steve hadn’t drawn Bucky young and full of joy, with big, beaming smiles and laughter in his eyes, the way he had been before the war. He had drawn Bucky the way Steve had seen him that night before the train.

Stress and pain had formed new lines around Bucky’s eyes and between his brows. His cheeks had been thinner, and there were no more wide grins or loud laughter. But there had been smiles, small ones, like the one in the sketch. Some directed towards the Commandos, but most were just for Steve. Tiny quirks of his lips. But there had been so much love in his eyes.

A love that Steve had only realized was there after he had lost and then found Bucky. A love that Steve had done his best to radiate back with every look and smile. Every time they were alone. With every touch and kiss. There hadn’t been many, but there had been enough.

No, Steve thought, there hadn’t been enough; there would never be enough.

A wet spot appeared on the corner of the page. Steve sniffed and turned his face back up to the stars.

He wanted to go home. So, so badly.

But would he have had a home back in the 1940s without Bucky? There had always been Bucky. And now.

Maybe Steve and Peggy could have been happy together. Made a home. A new family, had children.

But the thought of marrying Peggy without Bucky standing next to him as his best man. Would he have married Peggy when he still had Bucky? He knew Bucky had plans for both of them, finding girls to marry and living next door to each other. Kids and a dog. With lots of food and nice houses.

He laughed, dark and wet. It didn’t matter; none of it did. Peggy was ninety-three and had already lived her life. Bucky was gone. And he wanted to go home.

Steve hugged the sketch to his chest and rocked back and forth, crying in the empty darkness with only the stars to see his tears. Crying for what he could have had and for what he lost.

~*~*~*~*~

TJ was in his room lying on his bed, listening to the soft murmuring of conversation between his mother and her secret service agent, and waiting for them to leave before starting his own day. This had been his usual plan of action for the past two weeks, ever since his family had come home to find him at the piano and had crushed any good feelings with a few careless words. He had seen them three times since then: Margaret twice, the pattern to her days was pretty erratic, and Elaine once, when she had called him to ask if he was going to have dinner with her last Friday night.

It seemed avoiding his family was working. TJ wasn’t quite sure that he was happy, but his moods were lighter, the usual burning throb of need for coke was just a dull itch at the back of his mind. It was easy to tune it out with music when it got stronger, either by playing the piano or listening to some songs from his phone. After crossing paths twice with his grandmother while playing piano in what he thought was an empty house, TJ had found a place to rent a piano and a room to play it.

Things were working for once. TJ felt… Clear. Awake.

Good.

And that scared him.

He was afraid of how good he felt being so distant from his family. Sustaining himself with piano and a few texts from Steve.

TJ didn’t want to feel good without his family. He loved them. They loved him. For so long all he had was his family, drugs, and the distant memory of loving the piano. Then he had Sean, and things had been so amazing. And losing him…

He could still vividly recall the soul crushing despair he had felt. The burning, throbbing, tearing pain that he knew no amount of coke or alcohol could ever drown out.  

TJ still wasn’t sure if he would ever thank his mother for finding him. If she hadn’t he wouldn’t be here, agonizing over what kind of person found themselves feeling better away from the people they loved.

He clutched his phone to his chest. Steve.

Steve had lost the people who made him happy. They were dead, and TJ still had his, but he stayed away from them. He didn’t know what to do.

And there it was. The itch that told him that things would be better with a little coke. And the itch was only surpassed by the growing numbness that had led him to an empty bottle of vodka and running car in the garage.

He squeezed his phone tighter and started humming the main melody for Bitter Sweet Symphony, picturing the fingerings for the piano in his head.

The front door shut. Finally.

TJ leapt up from the bed and gathered his jacket, keys, wallet, and a new book of sheet music. He paused at the bedroom door to listen for Margaret stirring earlier than usual. Nothing. He ran down the stairs and out the front door, only pausing to wave at Clark, the agent who had house sitting duty today.

TJ had an errand to run. Maybe not one he should get done today given how his mood had slipped, but one that needed to be done.

Breathing in the slightly cool fall air, he looked up at the cloudy sky. Alright, then. Let’s get this over with.

~*~*~*~*~

TJ didn’t enter The Dome through the front door; he took the side entrance where all the deliveries were sent. That door was closer to the office where the accounts were stored. He knew that was where his two business partners would be, paying that weeks bills and making sure everything was ready for reopening that night.

Malcolm and Andrew were right where TJ thought they would be. Malcolm was behind the large office desk covered in neat stacks or folders and papers. He was smart and organized, and TJ had teamed up with him to get the club on its feet. Andrew sat in a comfortable looking black, leather armchair with his computer in his lap. He had done most of the PR and advertising that it took to open the club, as well as forking over a large chunk of the money.

They both looked tired, since they hadn’t gotten an early start for the day but rather were still working from last night, but Andrew looked high out of his mind. TJ guessed that he had taken a little something extra after such a successful month. The ass always had enjoyed snorting right in front of TJ when he had been on his last sober kick with Gunner.

Looking up from the delivery forms he was checking, Malcolm’s eyes widened slightly, and he said, “TJ. I, uh. Didn’t think you were coming in.”

Andrew briefly looked up from his computer before returning to whatever he had been doing, too high to be interested in the conversation.

“No, it’s nothing big,” TJ said. “I just wanted to check on something, then I’ll be back out of the way.”

“Sure. What is it?” Malcolm asked.

“The space that we were thinking about turning into a restaurant,” TJ said. “What did you decide to do with it?”

Malcolm shuffled a few papers around. He seemed a bit guilty, and he should be. “We were going to go with turning that space into VIP rooms.” He stopped his fidgeting. “Look, man. I know you-”

“Stop,” TJ interrupted. “I’m not here for that. Just needed to know. I’ll see you guys,” he waved a hand, “whenever.” And he left.

Hurrying out of the club, TJ hailed a taxi and blurted out the right address to the driver. Be calm, think about the music you’re about to be playing, he told himself. Don’t think about that stupid restaurant that was the only reason you invested in the club in the first place. He started the piano fingerings for Bitter Sweet Symphony again and deliberately clamped his teeth together so he wouldn’t succumb to the urge to give the driver a different address.

Finally the taxi pulled up to the music school where he was renting piano time. Rushing through the sign-in process, TJ went limp as he sat on the piano bench. He rested his forehead on the key cover and breathed in the scent of varnished wood. Lifting the cover and gently pressing the middle C chord and the sustain pedal, his head cleared. The itch was gone; the numbness was gone.

TJ breathed in the notes and began to play.

Two and a half hours later, his phone vibrated his back pocket.

Pulling it out and opening the message, he tipped his head back, looked up at the bright yellow wood of the tall, vaulted ceiling, and laughed for the first time that week.

_**Steve:** _ _What do people do when they travel? (11:16AM, Sept. 29)_

TJ may not know what the hell he was doing with his life or his family, but he had his piano and Steve. Everything else, he could deal with.

~*~*~*~*~

Steve leaned up against one of rails of the South Rim overlook and stared down into the valley. He didn’t want to do one of the guided tours or a horseback ride. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Shouldn’t people on road trips be more excited? Motivated? Purposeful? Anything but this lethargy that had creeped up on him since waking up this morning.

Without any other idea, he sent TJ a message.

He got back, _**TJ:** _ _Ha! Um. Go places? Look at stuff? Buy crappy souvenirs. Take pictures. I’ve never actually been sightseeing. (11:17AM, Sept. 29)_

Steve smiled slightly and replied, _Me neither. Pictures sound nice. I need to get a camera though. :(  (11:18AM, Sept. 29)_

He grinned a little bigger when he added the frowny face. He liked adding those emoticons TJ had told him about; they were fun.

_**TJ:** _ _Your phone? You got a new one right? (11:18AM, Sept. 29)_

Right. He sent, _Oh. Forgot about that. (11:19AM, Sept. 29)_ , and started looking through the different apps.

The phone did have a camera on it. Steve had been too caught up in searching the internet to try it out though. He twisted around and snapped a couple of pictures of the view. He could also, Steve discovered while he sorted through the different options, send pictures as a text message. So he sent one to TJ.

_**TJ:** _ _Nice. Send me one of you. I’ve only seen you once and all I can remember is that you’re hot and blond. (11:24AM, Sept. 29)_

Hot? Did that mean what he thought it did? Steve opened the browser and checked a site he had found very helpful: a slang dictionary.

Huh. Bucky had called him gorgeous before; some of the USO girls would tell him he was handsome every once and a while. But he wasn’t very used to receiving compliments that dealt with his appearance.

_**TJ:** _ _Uh. I didn’t offend you or anything did I? (11:29AM, Sept. 29)_

No, no, no. Not offended. Just… He replied, _No it’s fine. Just surprised me. Never been called hot before. (11:30AM, Sept. 29)_

TJ’s response was quick, and it made Steve laugh aloud.

_**TJ:** _ _I know I’ve asked if you lived in a hole before this but did you live in a hole????? (11:30AM, Sept. 29)_

Not a hole. Just through a war and frozen for seventy years. But of course he couldn’t tell TJ that.

Steve fiddled with the phone again before taking a picture of himself with the South Rim in the background; he attached it to the message, _Ha. No. I just haven’t been around the type of people who would call me attractive lately. And when I was growing up I was really skinny and small. And sick a lot. (11:32AM, Sept. 29)_

_**TJ:** _ _Well people have been blind. You’re smoking hot. I bet you were even when you were a kid. (11:32AM, Sept. 29)_

Closing his eyes, he smiled sadly and deliberately didn’t ask for a picture back. He hoped TJ wouldn’t be hurt, but Steve remembered clearly how much TJ had looked like Bucky. And right now he couldn’t deal with the reminder.

He changed the topic. _Where do you think I should go next? (11:34AM, Sept. 29)_

_**TJ:** _ _Las Vegas is close. I had a blast when I went a few years ago. (11:35AM, Sept. 29)_

Nope, way too many people. _What about somewhere less city? (11:36AM, Sept. 29)_

_**TJ:** _ _You could always hit the classics. Mt. Rushmore. Yellowstone has a good rep. (11:36AM, Sept. 29)_

Mount Rushmore had been under construction when Steve had been a kid, and now TJ called it one of the classics. Wow. But, it did sound good to go see. _I think I’ll go with those two. Let me know if you have any other ideas. (11:37AM, Sept. 29)_

Steve headed back to where his bike was parked. He’d get something to eat and then start riding north. Driving the few miles to Tusayan, AZ, he stopped at the first restaurant that wasn’t a chain or too classy. TJ had sent him a message while he’d been on the road.

_**TJ:** _ _What made you decide to go on a road trip anyway? (11:48AM, Sept. 29)_

That was… Steve wasn’t sure if he could answer. He used getting seated and placing his order to delay replying. Finally he wrote, _My friend Bucky wanted to go see the Grand Canyon. He died before he got the chance. So. Here I am. (12:17AM, Sept. 29)_

Steve felt nervous and jittery as he waited to TJ to reply. The waiter came back to refill Steve’s water, and he had to physically put a hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing. After what seemed like an hour, the phone vibrated.

_**TJ:** _ _Crap. Losing people you care about really sucks. I wish I could help or say something that would make things better. But. Damn. I grieve with thee. Can’t remember where I heard that from but I thought it was a better thing to say then sorry. (12:28AM, Sept. 29)_

Against his will, Steve smiled. That was the best thing TJ could have said. Something that was uniquely him and didn’t get tangled up in Steve’s memories of Bucky.

Bucky had been terrible at expressing emotions. It had been Steve to take the plunge and kiss him first, for all that Bucky had realized his feelings long before Steve. It had been a miracle that they had started a relationship at all.

_I grieve with thee._ Yeah, that was better than ‘sorry.’

Steve wrote, _You did help. Do help. I don’t have many people to talk to and you’re good at it. (12:34AM, Sept. 29)_

The waiter came back with Steve’s burger, and Steve ate a few fries while he read TJ’s message.

_**TJ:** _ _I’m glad. Say. Bucky was what you called me that day we met right? If so he was one good looking guy. ;)  (12:35AM, Sept. 29)_

Steve snorted and laughed. So much for TJ not sharing Bucky’s vices. _He had all the girls trailing after him. He also had a friend that made sure his head didn’t get too big to fit in the door. (12:36AM, Sept. 29)_

_**TJ:** _ _I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m sure my head is the perfect size. (12:37AM, Sept. 29)_

Steve laughed again. Maybe. He took a bite of his lunch. Maybe he needed to share Bucky. Maybe then he could. He didn’t know. Put Bucky behind him? The thought made him sick.

But he was tired. Tired of hurting and being alone. Maybe he could share Bucky, and that way two people would remember him. Maybe.

He didn’t know. But. TJ was there. And once again, talking to him felt good. Everything hurt less. It made Steve… not happy, but it felt like he could be happy again, rather than the drowning pit of despair he had felt last night.

So he ate some more fries and wrote another text and shared Bucky with TJ, wondering all the while if this was the right thing to do, but eventually deciding to go with it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "I grieve with thee' line is not mine. Cookies to everyone who knows where it's from. ;D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! The title used to be "The Second Time Around," but it was a working title that I really didn't like all that much. This one comes from the song "Bitter Sweet Symphony" by The Verve, and I like it a lot better. I also fixed the summary. 
> 
> So, this chapter took a while mostly because I am terrible at dialogue. I still don't quite like how the last conversation worked out (feels a bit off to me), but I reached the point where I was stuck on how to make it better.
> 
> That said, I'm on a quest for a second beta, someone with different strengths that can compliment Nat (who beta-ed this chapter and is awesome!! But very busy). So if any of you readers want to poke and prod at this fic and are really good at word usage and dialogue (or just kind of good...), please let me know. :D
> 
> Thanks much, and I hope you like it.

Surprisingly enough, TJ got away with avoiding his family for nearly another month. And what a month it had been, full of music, piano, and Steve. Not perfect by any stretch, but he had good days for once. Days when he could breathe and actually felt… nice. And free.

He had forced himself to stop worrying about his mother’s campaign and the rest of the drama his family found themselves in, and he had focused more on his own life: finding another apartment and concentrating on his piano; though, he still hadn’t found the courage to take more piano lessons. He knew that the disastrous first attempt at playing in front of those politicians visiting the White House when he was fifteen had done serious damage to his self-confidence.

Oh, sure, now TJ could play at his family’s dinner parties, but none of those guests mattered to him. And he still couldn’t get rid of the tiny, poisonous voice that sounded just like the last piano teacher he’d had in boarding school, the voice that asked why TJ bothered with lessons and practicing when his father could just get him any job he wanted; after all, hadn’t Bud offered enough times?

Still, the bad days were, for once, far outnumbered by the good ones, and so many of those were filled with Steve.

He had sent TJ dozens of pictures while on his road trip. Many were beautiful landscapes of the Northern Midwest: Yellowstone, Rushmore, the Black Hills, the mountains of Colorado and Montana, and everywhere in between. Steve had also found great enjoyment in taking shots of whatever odd things he found, and there were a lot of them. Everything from strange rocks to strange food, from ridiculous people to ridiculous souvenirs.

There were also a great number of selfies taken with Steve’s face in a variety of expressions, and TJ wasn’t ashamed to admit that he enjoyed those photos the most.

However, the most meaningful pictures TJ had received were the ones of Steve’s art. Those pictures had only started coming a week ago, and they took TJ’s breath away. Steve was such an amazing artist.

Also starting a week ago, he had asked for TJ to send him a picture of himself. So TJ snapped one and sent it, only for it to receive back the first picture of Steve’s art: a portrait drawing of a man who looked just like TJ.

TJ knew from their texting conversations that this was the infamous Bucky, Steve’s long lost best friend. The man Steve had mistaken TJ for the first time they met; the man TJ was fairly sure Steve had desperately loved and was still mourning.

Steve had never said he had loved Bucky, but since that first time Bucky had been mentioned a month ago, TJ and Steve had traded hundreds of texts and gotten to know each other as well as two people communicating through texts could. They had swapped dozens of stories about their pasts, and almost all of Steve’s had featured Bucky in some way.

TJ had found himself torn. Because it was obvious that Bucky had been a focal point of Steve’s world and that anyone wanting to form any kind of relationship with Steve, friendship or otherwise, would have to contend with Bucky. While TJ was not at all grateful that Bucky was gone, he was selfishly glad that he didn’t have to share Steve’s heart with him any more than he already did.

Suppressing the smile he seemed to get nowadays at the thought of Steve, TJ nodded to Clark and unlocked the front door, careful not to make any extra noises. It was late enough that Steve, three hours earlier on pacific time, was already asleep.

So, TJ was very caught off guard when his grandmother’s voice rang out through the silent house. “You little shit. Decided to come home, did you?”

“Nana, I-” TJ said, frantically trying to not wake up his mother and still find some way to salvage this. Some way that wouldn’t involve him saying, ‘oh, I was avoiding you all because I was trying to be happy.’

“Oh, so you do remember who I am,” Margaret said. “How surprising since I haven’t seen you in God knows how long.” She looked furious, but she was also quiet and didn’t want to wake Elaine either. “You’re lucky your mother’s been so busy with this political shit storm New York stirred up, or she would have sent Dougie to track you down again weeks ago.”

TJ tried to explain. “I’ve been busy, too.”

“You were doing so well, TJ.” She was near tears, and TJ suddenly hated himself for making her this sad.

“I’m still doing well,” he said.

Margaret snapped back with, “You mean you haven’t been off doing terrible things with terrible boys? Then what have you been doing?”

TJ suddenly had the urge to hide his piano playing, to keep it secret and safe like it had been when his family had been in the White House. “I- I’ve been looking for an apartment.”

“Don’t you already have an apartment?” she asked.

“No,” TJ said, “not any more.” He’d had gotten rid of his old one. It had been filled with too many memories. Good ones of Sean: having sex, playing the piano for him, even cooking dinner. Sean had been a great cook; TJ had loved to watch. And there were so many bad memories: Sean saying he was disgusted (“I'm not some pathetic, American punchline.”), TJ lying in bed after the carbon monoxide poisoning staring up at the ceiling, and all the men he had invited over in an attempt to feel something other than numb misery.

Stop it, TJ told himself, closing his eyes. He mentally recalled the last picture he’d received of Steve, who’d made it to Washington and the Pacific coast. The wind had been blowing, whipping Steve’s floppy, blond hair everywhere, and there had been waves in the background. Steve’s smile had been wider than his usual small quirk of the lips. He’d looked happy, and TJ had never wanted to be somewhere more in his life.

“I,” TJ opened his eyes, “met someone. Nothing’s happened; we’ve just been texting.” He laughed a little. “He’s not even on this side of the country. But he makes me want to try, and I’ve been working harder.” He looked at her, trying to make her understand. Please, Nana.

“Does he know that you’re an addict?” Margaret asked, voice hard.

“N-not yet.” No, no, he thought. Please don’t-

“Then it won’t work, TJ.” She looked sad, but her eyes were serious. “People change when they find out you have problems. That’s why you have to fight this yourself. Depending on others only gets you hurt.”

TJ laughed, wet and humorless. “This,” he waved his hand, “this is why I’ve been avoiding all of you. Somehow, you, Mama, Dad, Dougie, you always manage to make me want to use more.”

He turned, grabbed his jacket, and back out the door, ignoring Margaret calling his name. Walking down the street, keeping a sharp eye out for a taxi to hail, he reached into his pocket for his phone. He still had Omar’s number. TJ would call him and finally get some relief from the burning, itching, emptiness that had swelled up inside him from just that short conversation with his grandmother. And maybe these god damned tears would stop.

Wiping his wet cheeks with his free hand, he unlocked his phone and froze. The wallpaper was the first selfie Steve had sent him. The Grand Canyon was in the background, and Steve was so, so gorgeous.

And. So sad.

TJ sat down on the curb, not even a block from his mother’s house, and stared at the picture.

It was this Steve that made TJ want to try harder. Not the happy, bright Steve from today’s picture. This one, who looked like he smiled so he wouldn’t cry. He seemed heartbreakingly fragile, and he made TJ, who had never started a fight in his life, want to stand up and take on whatever it was that made him this way.

So he did. Full of fierce determination, he stood back up and nearly marched back to the house. Margaret didn’t know anything about Steve. TJ would show her; he’d tell Steve right now. Tonight. And everything would be fine. It would. TJ’s hands shook as he opened the front door.

Elaine was in the dining-room, talking to Margaret. She must have been woken up by all the noise.

“TJ,” she said as soon as she saw him.

“No,” he said, heading for the stairs and his room. “I don’t want to speak with either of you right now.”

Elaine jerked back a step, dressing gown swinging around her legs, shock and hurt on her face.

TJ didn’t want to hurt her or his grandmother or any of his family. He loved them.

But his hands were still shaking, and his bones felt like they were trying to jump out of his skin, and his heart was beating so fast.

Steve had told him once about why he had to leave New York even though he loved the city so much. He’d said he had been slowly suffocating there without even realizing it.

TJ squeezed his hands into fists. “Goodnight, Mama,” he said, making his tone as gentle as possible. “Goodnight, Nana,” and he ran up the stairs.

Finally in his room and safe behind the locked door, he collapsed on the bed. He was so nervous that he felt nauseous, and his damn hands wouldn’t be still. He typed out, _Steve are you awake? I need to talk to you (2:16AM, Oct. 24)_ , and hit send before he lost his nerve.

Then he looked at the time stamp and remembered. Shit.

Steve had said he was going running in the morning. Early in the morning because he was crazy and liked seeing the sky pre-dawn. And TJ had probably just woken him up.

Way to go, he thought as he frantically typed out another text. Show him how much of a screw up you are. Can’t even remember a message you got a few hours ago.

_Oh crap what am I doing of course you’re not awake (2:17AM, Oct. 24)_

_**Steve:** _ _TJ. Calm down. I don’t mind sleeping in a little later to talk to you now. What is it? (2:17AM, Oct. 24)_

Oh. Alright then.

TJ didn’t know what to say though; he hadn’t actually planned anything out like he usually did when he had something big to tell anyone important to him. Like that damn club. Stop. Don’t think about that.

_I need to tell you something. It’s kind of big. Not like our secret identities big but just as (2:19AM, Oct. 24)_

And he looked on in horror as his shaking fingers accidentally hit send. No, no, no.

_Shit I didn’t mean to hit send (2:19AM, Oct. 24)_

_Damn it I shouldn’t have sent that either (2:19AM, Oct. 24)_

What was he doing?

_**Steve:** _ _Unless you’re about to tell me you’re a serial killer or you sacrifice puppies and kittens or something like that, then there’s nothing that you have to worry about. Just say it. (2:20AM, Oct. 24)_

_There’s nothing that you have to worry about._ Ha. Yeah, there was. Because Nana was right: people did change when they found out you had problems. His parents had when he couldn't keep it together in boarding school. They started seeing him as something to hide from the media, something to separate from their political endeavors, a stain to cover up. And even Dougie changed after that fiasco when he had been nineteen, starting coke, and dropping out of his first college.

TJ did deserve it; he was a screw up. He couldn't handle being a Hammond like Doug, couldn't deal with the spotlight.

But. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want Steve to change. He wanted the daily text conversations to keep going, the pictures to keep coming. He wanted Steve to still be his friend and not slowly distance himself when he found out how much trouble TJ really was.

_Just say it._

Just say it.

Say it. Addict, addict, addict.

_Addict (2:24AM, Oct. 24)_

Shit. TJ glared at his stupid, betraying fingers.

_I mean I’m an addict (2:24AM, Oct. 24)_

There.

And he waited.

With his damn fingers that could barely hold the phone, he checked the time. Ten minutes.

A drop of salty water landed on the screen. He sniffed, wiped it off, and ignored all the others that landed on his blankets.

“Once again, TJ, screwing up your life,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.

Then his phone started ringing, startling him so badly that he dropped it.

Steve's face was on the display.

TJ hit the green answer button, taking extra care not to touch the red one, and lifted the phone to his ear.

“TJ?” Steve's voice rang out, unfamiliar because TJ hadn't heard it since that first day they met. “I’m sorry I took so long to reply. I had to look something up. And I was going to reply in a text, but it got too long, and I decided a phone call was better anyway. So are you in a program or something? Is there anything I can do to help? TJ? TJ, are you there?”

TJ sniffed again, feeling lightheaded from relief. “Yeah.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I’m here. Just, uh.”

Steve was silent, and then TJ heard him mutter to himself, “Steve, you meatball.” Louder, he said, “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to… take so long.”

“I’m fine. I-” TJ took a deep breath and let it out. “So, you researched it? Addict? Because of the hole you grew up in?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, that’s why.” He was quiet, then he softly asked, “Are you sick?”

“What?” TJ asked.

“They said many drugs have side effects that are bad for your health,” Steve said. “Is that why you’re telling me now?”

“No, Steve,” TJ said. “I’m not sick, not dying.”

“Oh.” Now it was Steve’s turn to let out a loud breath. “That’s good.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. I had a…” TJ trailed off, trying to find the right word, “disagreement with my grandmother.”

“And your response was to start telling me your secrets?” Steve asked, his voice amused.

“Well, when you put it like that.” TJ huffed a laugh and smiled a little. “At this point, I think I’d tell you anything.”

Steve didn’t seem to have a response, so TJ continued. “She just. She said I have to fight this myself. Because you would change when you found out how many problems I have.” TJ’s voice went small. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve said. “I have problems too. We joke about our secret identities, but most of the time, mine’s more trouble than it’s worth. I’ve come so close to giving it all up.” He sounded wistful. “Especially recently.”

“I don’t know how to give mine up,” TJ said, and he wondered... “Do you want to-”

“No,” Steve said. “Let’s do that face to face. When I’m finished out here with my road trip, I’ll come see you in DC. We’ll tell each other everything then.” He laughed. “Reveal our secret identities.”

“Alright,” TJ said.

They were both quiet, but it was nice. TJ slipped his shoes off and lay back on his bed, head pillowed and body finally relaxed.

“What,” Steve asked, “are you addicted to?”

“Oh, um.” TJ hadn’t realized he’d never actually told Steve anything specific. “Coke. Cocain. Been using for a while.” He rolled onto his side and pulled his knees up. “My family hates it. Big stain on their image. I haven’t really tried quitting before this past year though.”

“Ah.” Steve trailed off, then he blurted out, “Why do you want to quit now?”

“What?” TJ said and sat up. What kind of question was that? Quitting drugs was what you were supposed to do.

“I mean, maybe that’s what your grandmother meant,” Steve said and paused before continuing. “You don’t have to do it _by_ yourself. I think she had that part wrong. But you do have to do it _for_ yourself. Otherwise, there’s no point. It’s your life, TJ. So why do you want to quit?”

TJ was speechless for a moment. “I don’t know.” He plopped back onto the pillows and laughed. “That’s so screwed up. I don’t even know.”

What the hell? he thought. How can I not answer this?

“TJ, no.” Steve almost yelled the ‘no.’ “It’s not screwed up; it’s… complicated. I mean I don’t even know what makes me happy. You not knowing doesn’t mean you’re screwed up. It just means you have a lot to think about.” Steve paused and softly said, “Why did you start?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before.” TJ switch his phone to his right hand and rubbed the left side of his face, sighing. “I started drugs when I was a kid. I was constantly in the spotlight because my family was, um, really important back then, and when I was outed-”

“Outed,” Steve interrupted, “for… liking men?”

“Yeah. Some asshole snapped some pictures of me kissing a guy. Everyone went nuts. I got everything from death threats to rape threats to people praising me as a symbol for gay rights.”

“What?” Steve sounded really angry. “Rape threats?”

“Yeah, it was a nightmare.” TJ felt exhausted just thinking about when he ‘came out.’ “We tried covering it up, distracting them with some other thing to obsess over, and giving them answers to all their questions. Nothing worked. I had to go to a boarding school, and even that didn’t help much. Then something… else happened, and I had stopped playing piano.” TJ tugged on a handful of his hair. “Without that. I just… fell completely apart. Like that was all that held me together. I tried to fill the place my music had been. Tried to make friends. That didn’t work.” He forced himself to stop yanking his hair and instead used his free hand to press piano chords into the blankets. “Then it was onto booze, weed, pills, parties. Anything to get rid of the emptiness. Eventually I settled for making it hurt less, and in college I added sex and coke to the list.”

The piano chords changed to Mozart’s tenth sonata. Steve’s sonata. TJ wanted to play for Steve. Sean had liked it when TJ played for him. Stop it.

Maybe Steve would play _with_ TJ. Duets with Dougie had always been fun.

Finally Steve said, “When I was a kid, I was really angry.” The words came slowly, like they were being dragged out of him. “I was small and almost constantly sick, and I hated that I couldn’t do the things I wanted to, protect the things that were important to me. So I pushed myself. Went to work nearly too sick to stay conscious. Picked fights with anyone who did things that were wrong.” He sighed. “I came so close to dying so many times. The only reason I made it to where I am now is because Bucky was there to look after me. And I…” he trailed off, lost in thought. “Don’t know where I was going with this.”

A laugh burst out of TJ. “Steve,” he said, smiling.

“Stop laughing,” Steve said, also laughing. “Anyway,” he sobered back up, “we all do unhealthy things to cope with our problems, and… I don’t know.” TJ started laughing again. “Really, stop laughing, you ass.”

When they both had settled down and caught their breath, Steve said, almost too quietly to hear, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

TJ’s face hurt he smiled so widely. He felt so full. Full of music and happiness and Steve and thoughts of them playing piano together. Or drinking coffee. Or cooking dinner. Or anything really. “You are helping. More than anyone ever has.”

“I'm glad,” Steve said, and they were both quiet again.

A nice quiet. Full of silent music and dreams.

A thought popped into TJ head, and he felt so full that he had to say it. “I think the reason I want to quit now is because,” he paused and said slowly, almost tasting the words, “the times I was the happiest were when I wasn't using. Coke made things bearable but... not good. Nothing was good. And right now.” He hummed. “Things are good.”

“Yes,” Steve said. “Things are good. And that’s a good reason because it’s your reason. Just remember that you don’t have to do things by yourself. Even if you think I’m asleep.”

“Yeah,” TJ said. “And the same goes for you.”

“Alright.” And TJ could hear Steve’s smile.

TJ stretched his legs out. “So.” He yawned. “When are you thinking about ending your road trip?”

Steve laughed. “Why? In a hurry to reveal your secret identity? Careful now. You’ll start sounding like Batman.” His voice went deeper and gravely. “‘I’m Bruce Wayne; let me tell you my big secret.’”

“Hey!” TJ said, doing his best not to laugh. “I told you about those videos. You’re not allowed to use them against me. I will freeze breath your face off.”

And Steve had the gall to laugh even harder at him. “I don’t know,” when he had recovered enough breath, “how long I’ll keep going. So far, I’ve just seen trees and mountains and a little ocean. I think I’m ready to start seeing all the people and cities. Are you in a hurry?”

“No, take your time. Thing are,” and TJ smiled again, “things are good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, yes, cookies to everyone who knows where those references at the end came from. Though we'll have to pretend that they came from 'how some other movie should have ended that's not Iron Man.' 'Cause Pepper wouldn't let Tony make his own movie. ;D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast update, yay! But shorter, not yay... Ah, well. 
> 
> Beta read by Nat and LaufeiaEvans. Thanks much! As usual, please let me know if you find any issues.

Florida was… disconcerting, Steve decided as he drove along a beachside street. Everything was so flat but not the same flatness as the Midwest. And the buildings were… odd. After riding around America for two months, Steve could say with certainty that Florida was unlike anywhere else.

Steve could also say that the two months on the road had done great things for his state of mind. He felt good. Not happy, but maybe good was the best he could hope for right now. He still missed the Commandos. Bucky’s absence was still a heavy weight on his heart, probably always would be. And Peggy...

While Steve knew he would always long for the people he had lost, those he had gathered around him as his family, he was no longer missing the 1940s. The smothering sensation of everything new and different and _wrong_ enveloped him was gone. Steve had seen the future, and the future was amazing. And people were still people. Still a mixed collection of hopes and dreams, fears and nightmares, beauty and ugliness. He was both sad and happy that even seventy years hadn’t changed human nature.

Society still had problems, and probably always would. But. Things weren’t so bad. Plus all the technology was fun to play with. Steve was looking forward to messing with Stark, who had been sending him links to sites that provided technology help. Stark had even managed to get an _Internet For Dummies_ book sent to him, delivered to the hotel he’d stayed in during his four days in San Francisco.

Finally finding a parking spot, Steve pulled off his motorcycle jacket and helmet, locked down all of his belongings, rolled up his pants, and changed out of his boots into sandals that would be easy to slip on and off. Excitement started to build up in his chest as he trekked down the boardwalk toward the beach. On this trip, he had been to so many new places, but he still felt the thrill of somewhere new and uncharted, at least by him.

And there it was: bright white sand, bold blue water, gentle waves, a barely-there breeze. Pensacola, Florida. Beautiful. Great weather too. He’d be happy to see sixty degrees back in New York on a mid-November day, not this perfect seventy-three. At least that was what the weather app on his phone had said. Not that Steve cared; it felt great.

Grinning like a little kid, he slipped off his shoes and went running, sandals in one hand, sketchbook in the other, through the soft sand down to the water. He laughed as his bare feet made odd squeaky noises with each step. At the water’s edge, he spread his arms, closed his eyes and breathed, feeling the warm sun on his face and the cool water washing over his feet.

He opened his eyes and took another long look at the view. Then he dropped his shoes and dug for his phone. Snapping a selfie, he took care to get a good shot of the coastline in the background. He sent it to TJ and added, _Pensacola, FL. (2:24PM, Nov. 16)_.

Almost immediately, TJ replied, _Perfect. I’ve actually been to that beach. Only stayed for 30 min and I was 7 or something but I remember the sand was fun. (2:25PM, Nov. 16)_.

Steve sat down in the sand and flipped open his sketchbook. There was a picture he wanted to draw. A woman and two children were building what may eventually become a sandcastle. A man sat nearby under a beach umbrella, book lying forgotten in his hands as he watched them with a soft, happy smile.

As he added lines for the little girl’s round cheeks, Steve felt a pang of loneliness. But it wasn’t painful, and it didn’t make him long bitterly for his love ones. He still felt good, peaceful, and he knew that a lot of the credit for his continued good mood belonged to TJ, who he could share everything with through the phone, even if he couldn’t do it in person.

Sketching the tall, multi-story hotels into the background of his picture, he thought about wrapping up his trip. He would tour up the east coast and end his travels in DC. See TJ again. Finally.

And… Maybe he would visit Peggy. Her assisted care home was there too. He had been told her memory was failing, and if he didn’t get a move on seeing her, he may not have many more chances.

The children looked to be finished with their castle, and the man was unpacking drinks and snacks from a cooler, so Steve started sketching out the castle’s rounded sides and three perfect towers right in the middle.

An apartment in DC might be nice. He loved New York, but after seeing so many different places, he thought that settling down in a new city might be better for him than going back to being surrounded by old memories warped by seventy years. Plus, he could see TJ more often than he could living in New York.

Steve missed people. Well, he missed his people. Missed having people he could call his. None of the other Avengers were in New York. Thor was still in Asgard; Stark was back in Malibu, and Banner, Barton, and Romanoff were who knows where. Settling in DC was better than anywhere else.

Basic sketch finished, Steve started the shading and details. As he added the flowers on the second girl’s swimsuit, he jumped when his phone vibrated in his pocket. And kept vibrating. Fishing it out, he saw that the display showed a unknown number.

Fearing that his nice afternoon was about to be disrupted, he answered, “Hello?”

“Rogers. We need you to come in.” Damn. It was Fury.

Steve sketched a bit more, not at all feeling like he should rush. “Is it an emergency, sir?”

“What?” Steve could hear just a hint of surprise in Fury’s voice.

He felt no guilt as he indulged in a smug smile. “Is it an emergency? If it’s not, I suggest you give me the situation, and I’ll see if I can schedule it in. I’m on vacation, you know.”

“The stories don’t do justice on how much of a pain in the ass you are,” Fury said, completely deadpan.

Steve had to bite his lip. “General Phillips was careful to keep most of it out of the reports, sir.” He added a few more details to the sandcastle. The children had added broken shells along the edges of the towers.

“It’s not an emergency.” Fury sighed and mumbled, “Not another little shit to deal with.” Steve didn’t think he was meant to hear that. People always did underestimate his hearing. Fury continued, “I don’t suppose you have been keeping up with the news on your little road trip?”

It seemed like this _would_ ruin his afternoon. “No, sir. I’ve just been seeing the pretty sights.”

“Didn’t think so.” Fury sighed again. Steve could hear papers rustling. “The bottom line is: the country is torn about the Avengers. There are many that think you all are God’s gift to mankind, and there’s a big group that think you’re the sign of the coming apocalypse. But most just don’t know enough about you to make up their minds. And the current administration is using that to push some legislation that would make things unpleasant for people that they classify as ‘gifted.’”

At that, Steve sat up straighter, all pretense at casualness ended. “Sir, how many of our people are speaking out against it?”

“Not many, because they don’t know that we know. And they won’t, otherwise we won’t find out about these things in time to do some damage control.” Fury paused. “As much as I hate to say it, Stark has done a good job so far keeping most of the heat off the Avengers. But he has his own issues. I’d put Romanoff, Barton, or Banner out there, but they each present their own set of problems.”

Steve had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going. He had a nauseating flash of his days back in tights. Even the uniform supplied by Agent Coulson had been too tight for his preference, as sturdy as it had been.

“The bottom line is: none of them would be as good as you,” Fury said. “They aren’t the leader of the Avengers, and, to be honest, there are few in the country with as much influence over the American people, whether you like it or not.”

“You want me to put myself out there,” Steve said, “in the public eye and put a positive face on the Avengers?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” There goes his vacation. “When do I need to be in?”

“Within a month,” Fury said slowly. “If there’s one good thing about how long the government takes to get anything done, it’s that shit fests like these take a while too. Politicians are winding down for the holidays.” Fury paused, and Steve could hear Agent Hill say something in the background. “We’d like you to make a statement at the beginning of the year. Ride that holiday cheer and get out there before things gear up again. You can meet with Stark in New York; he’s practically built you all a frat house out of his tower.”

Huh. So Stark moved back into his ugly tower. He must have finished repairs. “Will I need to stay in New York, sir?”

“Not the city itself, but nearby would be better.”

“What about DC?” Steve asked.

“That… Could work. Why there?” Fury sounded suspicious.

Steve didn’t even think about whether he should or not; he went for it. “I’ve made a friend, sir. Aren’t you proud?”

“Ecstatic. Do you want a cookie?” Fury said with a perfectly serious voice.

Steve smothered a laugh. “That’d be nice. Oatmeal raisin is my favorite.”

“I’ll have Hill send you a box.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be in New York by Thanksgiving.”

“That will work. I’ll see you there.” Fury hung up.

As entertaining as the end of that conversation had been, Steve sighed and drew his knees up to rest his forehead on. He was not looking forward to being back in the spotlight. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as being on stage, but clips from the interviews Steve had seen Stark give seemed just as hectic. It had been nice being able to walk around without people pointing and whispering.

So much for his peace and quiet. He needed to call TJ.

As the phone rang, he thought about what he wanted to say. He had been thinking about ending his trip soon already; he could just end it sooner and see TJ before going to New York.

“Hey, Steve!” TJ sounded very excited.

Steve couldn’t help but smile. “Hi, TJ. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Nah, just deciding if I’m going to go to my mother’s for dinner.”

“Still liking your new apartment?” Steve asked, closing his sketchbook and standing up.

“Oh my god, yes.” TJ huffed a laugh. “I love my mother, but she has been coming home still on the warpath. Some idiot she works with is causing trouble, and she thinks she has to fix it.”

“Sounds like you got out just in time.” Steve started walking down the beach along the ocean’s edge, sandals in one hand and his sketchbook tucked under the same arm, waves crashing over his feet.

“Looks like it. So, did you call just to chat or…” TJ trailed off.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Yeah. My, uh… boss just called me, and I need to head back to New York.”

“Ha! Is it finally time for our big reveal? Do I get to find out what your mystery job is? Are you a super model? Or a ninja assassin!” Steve started laughing. “Whose day job is a model. An Amish model. From... Europe? But born in Brooklyn, of course.”

Steve caught his breath. “Are you finished?” He was still grinning. “Because, no, I'm not any of those. You’re way off. Except the Brooklyn part.”

“Fine then.” TJ scoffed. “Spoil my fun. Do I finally get to give up my most super secret of secrets and tell you my last name? Because, really, all this build up.”

Suddenly irrationally nervous, Steve froze, stopped walking. _All this build up_. TJ had enough trouble in his life. Was Steve really about to add more by trying to keep TJ’s friendship while jumping back into the public eye?

“Steve? Are you still there?” TJ sounded worried.

“I think I'd still rather tell you in person,” Steve choked out. Waves crashed over his ankles.

“Come on.” TJ laughed weakly. “I'm sure it's not as big of a deal as you're making it. Even if you think it's horribly embarrassing, at least it's a job. Mine is... I'm not even sure what you'd call it. And I was back living with my mother a week ago. It can't be as bad as that.”

“I,” Steve trailed off. “You know how you said it was nice that I didn't know who you were before meeting you?” He started walking again, moving deeper into the ocean.

“Yeah.” TJ was very worried now.

“My job is about to make me very famous.” Steve said. “My name is pretty well known, and my job even more so, and now my... I guess you'd call him my boss. He wants me to do some interviews and pictures, and it's going to be a mess. My face will become well known again, and I know how much you hate dealing with the media. I’m about to make things worse if you stay friends with me.” He stopped walking. The waves were up to his knees. “I think you're the only real friend I have right now,” he whispered. “And I don’t want to make things harder for you, but I really do have to do this for my job.”

TJ hadn’t said anything. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and had to make a conscious effort not to break his phone.

“TJ?” Steve whispered again. The rolled up edges of his pants were getting drenched in seawater.

“Yeah,” TJ sounded hoarse. “I um. Yeah, you're one of the few real friends I have too. Hell, might be my only one, I don't know.” He was quiet for several long seconds. “If you’re trying to tell me to stop-” He broke off.

Steve kicked at the water a bit. “I didn't mean-”

“I know. You’re stuck with me for as long as you want to be.”

Steve smiled a little. “That’ll be a while then.”

“Yeah, well, if you get to be as famous as you think you're going to be, then just by knowing me, you'll have to deal with a lot of crap. I told you I had a lot of problems. So you should know all about them beforehand and figure out if they’re something you want to add to your own media nightmare.”

Steve waded back to where he parked his bike, still knee-high in the ocean. “You make it sound so bad. Unless…” He lightened his tone. “You're not a famous serial killer are you? Because I might have to try and convince you to stop. It's a personal thing.”

“No, I-” TJ laughed softly. “No, not a serial killer.”

“I think things will be fine then. We both have our own issues for each other to deal with, and we’ll just get through it.” Steve left the water and was back in the squeaky, soft sand. “Now when do you want to meet? I said I’d be back in New York by Thanksgiving, and I’m sure you’ll spend that with your family.”

“I should be asking you that. You’re cutting your trip short. Didn’t you have other things to see?”

“A few,” Steve said, shaking some sand off his feet. “I was thinking about stopping at the end of the month anyway. So today’s Friday-” Water, he needed water to get all this sand off. “How about Tuesday?”

“That works for me,” TJ said. “You sound really distracted.”

“I’m covered in sand, sticky with salt, and I can’t find any of those washing pole things to clean my feet off.”

TJ laughed. “Such tragedy.”

“You be quiet,” Steve said, also laughing. “I have my own smart mouth to deal with; I don’t need yours. This sand is itchy. And I can’t ride my bike in sandals.”

“Eh. You’ll make do,” TJ said, as unsympathetic as possible. “Where are you going next?”

“Atlanta, Georgia,” Steve said, feet finally dry enough to brush off.

“And,” TJ dragged out when it became obvious that Steve wasn’t going to continue. “What are you going to do in Georgia?”

“Oh, sorry. Had to get the sand off.”

“I have such a terrible friend,” TJ moaned. “Ignoring me for his feet.”

“Hey! Feet are important. Don’t be jealous.”

“You can’t see, but I’m sticking my tongue out at you.”

Steve let out a bark of laughter and leaned against the seat of his bike. “Yeah, yeah. You wound me. So, Georgia. Did you know they have this really snazzy aquarium? It's enormous! I looked at their website. They have penguins, TJ. Really cute, little penguins. And dolphins.”

“Yeah, Steve.” TJ chuckled. “I think it’s one of the biggest in the world.”

“That's what they said, so I put it on my list. There are a few other things, but I’ll see what I have time for. I’ll see you on Tuesday though.” Steve beamed at the thought.

“Tuesday,” TJ said. “It’s a date.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, woop, woop! Beta read by Nat and LaufeiaEvans. Thanks much! As usual, please let me know if you find any issues. :D Hope you like it. 
> 
> Warning for a homophobic slur.

TJ was pacing. Pacing because today was Tuesday. Tuesday, the day that TJ had set their ‘date’ for. The ‘date’ that was not a date because if it had been a date, TJ would have taken Steve out for something much nicer than pizza in TJ’s new apartment. 

Something like dinner at that Mediterranean place that TJ always forgot the name of but had amazing stuffed grape leaves. Or to one of the Smithsonian museums that had art. Steve had gushed about the one art gallery he had been to see on his road trip. Or maybe to the aquarium in Baltimore. It was a bit of a drive, but they were supposed to have a multi-story shark exhibit. TJ had never been there, but he had done some research after Steve had gone on and on about the one in Atlanta.

But this wasn’t a date. It was just pizza between two friends. And hanging out. Not a date. Because if it was a date, then TJ may need to throw up from nerves. He hadn’t been on a date in… Did he even know? 

At least since Sean. And TJ’s meetings with Sean probably didn’t count as dates. He’d had a few during college that could classify as dates, but there were mostly hook-ups and parties. After college...more of the same.

And he wasn’t even going to think about his days in boarding school. 

But, again, none of that mattered, because this wasn’t a date. It was just pizza in his apartment with a hot, funny, nice, perfect guy that was probably not completely straight judging by the many texts and photos TJ had received and TJ’s experienced perception. 

Shit. He was doomed. 

He stopped his pacing and looked around, anxious for something to do, but he had already gotten everything ready. The pizza had already been ordered and was on its way (three larges, what the hell, Steve), and TJ had done the little cleaning necessary to get his apartment into a near spotless state. 

It was an… alright apartment. Small. One bedroom. And since he was renting it, he couldn’t change the light tan walls to something a little less bland. But the floors were hardwood and tile, and there were large windows. And best of all, it was nothing like his old apartment; everything had been replaced, even down to all the furniture, dishes, and linens. The only thing that wasn’t brand new was his piano, and there was no way that was getting replaced.

Though, to be honest, it wasn’t like he had fond memories of it. He had received it from his parents - mostly his father - for his twenty-third birthday, right after his first stint in rehab and his mother’s second term as Governor of Illinois. TJ supposed that it was Bud’s way of trying to get him to focus back on his music, but the piano had mostly gathered dust, only being played when TJ was too high to care. Despite that, the piano was still his, a little battered and scuffed in a few places but perfectly tuned. He wasn’t about to give it up. 

There was a knock on the door. TJ jumped, heart hammering, palms suddenly damp. He wiped them on his jeans as he walked over to answer. 

Be calm, he told himself, and he opened the door so quickly that the pizza delivery woman squeaked, eyes wide and pizza boxes clutched tight to her chest.

“Sorry,” TJ said as he dug into his wallet for a tip. He handed her a ten and smiled, trying his best to not looked deranged and manic. 

She swapped the pizza for the tip and also smiled. Or tried to. Taking a deep breath, she mustered up a better one and called out, “Have a nice night!” before hurrying to the stairs. 

TJ leaned out the door, to watch her leave, still feeling sorry for startling her, but his attention was caught by a beautiful blond man coming towards him. He stared for what must have been several seconds when his attention was caught again, this time by the delivery woman, now stopped at the head of the stairs.

The same woman who had squeaked when TJ had opened the door too quickly was now mouthing ‘nice’ and grinning one of the dirtiest grins TJ had ever seen. She gave TJ a thumbs up and a wink before hurrying down the stairs. 

“Are you alright?” Steve asked, looking behind himself.

TJ shut his mouth. He must have been ogling Steve like an idiot. Shit. If the delivery woman thought this was a date...yep, he was definitely screwed.

Steve tugged at the cuffs of a freshly ironed dark gray button-up. He must have had to get a bigger size to go across his ridiculous shoulders, because the shirt sleeves were slightly too long. His slacks also must have been recently ironed; the crisp crease just went down, down, down along with TJ eyes. And then back up again back to Steve’s nervous eyes and the amused quirk to his lips. 

Just. Damn. So screwed.

Finally realizing that he was looking like an idiot standing and staring, TJ waved Steve into the apartment. “Come in, come in.” He set the pizza on the coffee table in front of the couch and headed to the kitchen to rummage for glasses and drinks. “I know you don’t drink much, so I just got sodas. I mean, there’s apple juice if you want it,” TJ turned back to Steve, “or milk…” his rambling trailed off as he noticed Steve watching him with a sad, wistful smile.

“Whatever you’re having,” Steve said. “Sodas are fine.” 

“What is it?” TJ said softly. 

“It’s just. A little different in person.” Steve forced a happier smile. It seemed like a well practiced move.

TJ pulled out two cokes and walked over to Steve standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the small entrance hall. “You don’t need to cover up your sadness.” He thumped Steve in the chest with a can.

Steve took it, and his smile became a little more real. “I don’t want to be sad though.” 

“Yeah, well, ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ is fine in public,” TJ bumped Steve in the shoulder on his way to the couch, “but that shit doesn’t cut it here.” He sat down and started flipping open pizza boxes.

Steve joined him on the couch and returned the shoulder bump. Their thighs brushed. TJ looked over at him. Steve’s smile was tiny and warm. 

All at once, TJ’s nerves were gone and he was suddenly hungry. He dug into the sausage and green pepper pizza. “I hope you were serious when you said get three pizzas.” He took a huge bite using the opened box as a plate.

Steve copied him and started in on the supreme. A few bites, and he answered, “Starving.”

After a couple of minutes of silence and bumping elbows, where TJ started on his second slice and watched Steve go to town on his, making good of his claim to be starving, TJ finally said, “So. How do we do this thing? Awkward small talk or jump right in? You tell me yours; I tell you mine?”

Steve choked on his bite and took a sip of coke. Then he blurted out, “I’m Captain America.”

It was TJ’s turn to choke. What the hell? And he kept coughing while Steve’s eyes got bigger and bigger. TJ managed to get out, “Was that supposed to be funny?” before instantly regretting it as Steve’s face closed off and he turned to his fifth slice to hide.

Shit. Captain America? That guy TJ had seen running around the streets of New York wearing a flag and fighting space aliens? 

“That…” TJ began but couldn’t finish. That didn’t fit at all, he thought. The fighting, yes, and Steve would even wear some costume if it meant helping people. But he wouldn’t… take up someone else’s mantle, their ideals, their legacy. He would make is own way. At least TJ had thought he would. Maybe he didn’t know Steve as well as he thought, and the thought left something nasty in TJ’s stomach. Finally he said, “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Steve had closed off completely; he was staring into the remnants of his pizza. TJ could see the muscles in his jaw twitch. They weren’t touching anymore; Steve had pulled away slightly and left a careful distance between them.

TJ panicked. He had to fix this. “How’d, uh, how’d you apply for that job? Get top marks in shield throwing? Get picked from a long list of other Steves? Shit, your name really is Steve, right? You didn’t have to change it or anything?”

Steve had turned back to TJ and was now giving him the most confused look. “What?”

“How’d they find you to be the new one?”

Realization dawned on Steve’s face. “No, there is no new one. Just me. I,” He wiped his hands on a napkin, “I was born in 1918.” 

1918\. The number rang in TJ’s ears like someone had whacked him over the head with a two by four. His thoughts were white noise, but his brain could still do math. Steve was ninety-four. How was he still alive?

Distantly, TJ could hear Steve still talking, “The people I'm working for found me frozen in ice. The serum that gave me all this,” he gestured to his body, “also kept me alive.” 

Steve reached over the side of the couch to where he had put his motorcycle jacket and the large bag with his art portfolio. But it wasn’t his art; Steve pulled out a huge, round, colorfully painted shield. 

And everything clicked for TJ. “Holy shit.” He poked the shield. “Holy shit!” He looked at Steve. 1918. “You know, this all makes sense now. That hole you grew up in. How you use ‘swell’ when you get excited. And your clothes!”

Steve rolled his eyes and touched TJ’s arm to still his bouncing. “Well, I'm glad I can solve the mystery.” He gave TJ a long look. “You're taking this really well. Now anyway. No ranting about government clones like people on the internet.”

TJ huffed. “People on the internet are insane.” He looked down at the floor.  Captain America . “I’m sorry about before. I just thought I knew you and-” He could see Steve’s shoulders tense back up out of the corner of his eye, and he turned back quickly. “No! I mean I couldn’t see you take someone else’s identity. But it doesn’t surprise me at all that you’re a superhero. I already knew you were ridiculously perfect. Only makes sense that you're Captain America, the one all the others build from.” 

Steve’s face was unreadable; he just watched. 

The distance between still seemed measured, and TJ hated it. He rubbed his face, gripped his hair once, and sighed. “I saw you on the news during the Battle of New York. There are a bunch of clips of you saving people, pulling them out of cars and-” Then he realized what he was doing. “Shit!”

Steve jumped. “Wha-”

“Sorry. I’m doing the same thing that I hate people doing to me: going on and on about whatever they saw me do on TV.”

“It’s okay-” Steve began.

“No, it’s not.” TJ interrupted. “You’re my friend Steve who just happened to be born in 1918.”

Steve smiled ruefully. “Just happened to? And I had a mishap at work?”

“Yes, terrible accident. Thankfully you’ve recovered.” 

Yes, TJ thought, thankfully. He took a bite of slightly cold pizza. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. But first, to get his own secret identity out of the way, and he was much more the villain to Steve’s hero. “I guess it’s my turn.”

There must have been something on TJ’s face because Steve jerked up, alarmed. “You don’t have to if-”

“Yes, I do.” TJ waved to Steve. “You should eat some more.” 

Steve didn’t touch the pizza; he just moved closer. 

But even Steve’s warmth pressed against TJ couldn’t stop the sense that things were already crashing down. He leaned back into the couch. “I have an image too, you know. Pretty much opposite of yours.” Pointing at Steve, he said, “Wholesome family values, hard work, patriotism, the good old days. Whereas I’m…” He tipped his head back into the cushions. “You know, men who sleep around with tons of women, they get called playboys. People who sleep around with lots of men, they get ‘slut.’”

“TJ…” 

TJ looked over to see Steve’s worried face. “‘Party animal’ is a nicer one people call me.” He turned back to the ceiling. “But then there’s ‘deadbeat son,’ ‘drug addict,’ ‘fag.’ The problem for everyone to deal with, the weight that burdens my parents’ dreams and ambitions.”

Steve’s eyes were big, and it looked like every one of TJ’s words struck him. TJ just kept hurting him. Good going.

“I just have no idea why you're friends with me. I mean-” TJ laughed. He could feel tears gathering. Don’t cry. Not in front of Steve. “I'm a serious fuck up. My own family can barely stand me.”

“That's not-” Steve tried to say.

“I'm TJ Hammond.”

Steve said nothing. 

“Don't know who that is? I'll give you the rundown.” TJ bit out the words. “Former President Bud Hammond is my dad; Elaine Barrish is my mom. She ran for president and is the current Secretary of State. I smoke, drink, party, sleep around, came out as gay when we were in the White House. Addicted to cocaine. Overdosed three weeks before we met.” 

Steve’s jaw was clenched again, and his eyes glistened. His arms were twitching like he wanted to grab something.

Now you’ve done it, TJ thought. Might as well finish the list. “Oh, and I tried to kill myself last December.”

Steve jerked towards TJ, and TJ flinched, though it was more from stress than any thought that Steve might hurt him. Steve looked gutted though. “Can I hug you?”

TJ nodded, and very slowly Steve moved his arms up and around TJ’s shoulders. The slow pace was ridiculous, but it made TJ feel a little better anyway. And then he was wrapped in firm, warm arms, with Steve cuddled against his neck and pressed all along his body. TJ lowered his own arms to Steve’s back and his head to Steve’s shoulder. It was… nice. 

Very nice. Steve smelled like fabric softener and some flowery shampoo. Fresh and clean and so warm and solid. Safe. 

TJ squeezed Steve harder as tears stained Steve’s shirt. “I'm sorry,” he nearly sobbed, and he had no idea what he was apologizing for. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hush,” Steve said and pressed his lips to TJ’s hair. “You don't apologize for any of it. Everyone else should apologize to you. I'm sorry you felt that was the only thing you could do.”

Why was Steve-

But Steve continued, “I know I didn't know you then and had no way to help, but I'm still sorry.” He pulled back and kissed TJ on the temple. “I'm so glad you're here now.”

And that was it. As TJ stared at Steve and Steve stared back, the only thing TJ could think was ‘how the hell did he get this lucky’ and ‘what did he have to do to keep it.’ He squeezed his eyes shut and clung to Steve, hunching in, pressing his forehead to Steve’s neck, and sobbing. 

TJ cried like he never had before, and Steve just held him, warm and solid and safe.

~*~*~*~*~

After he stopped crying, TJ drifted. He felt wrung out, exhausted, but peaceful. 

He heard Steve’s voice, soft and gentle. “Do you still feel... feel like…”

Another question that TJ had never been asked before. Steve was good at coming up with those. Hmm. Did he still? “No,” he decided. “No, not any more. Not since we started texting, and especially not now.”

“Oh.” 

Fingertips started rubbing up and down TJ’s spine. 

They felt nice, tingly and soothing, and they woke TJ up enough that he pulled himself out of the floaty bliss to realize where exactly he was. 

At some point, Steve had shifted, and now TJ was pressed all along Steve’s front and sitting between his legs. Huh. “Steve.”

“Hm?” The fingertips continued their rubbing, and they were joined by a hand brushing through the back of TJ’s hair that felt even better, if that was possible.

Should TJ really even say anything? 

Hell no. 

But he wanted to know. “You're... okay with everything I said?” And he hurried to say, “Because I'm kind of in your lap, and if I didn't just have an embarrassing crying spell, I would be kind of turned on right now. You are ridiculous levels of hotness, and your hands are on me, but I can control myself, and if you don't- And now you're laughing.”

Steve was shaking with it, and his hands had stopped their nice petting. Damn it. “TJ, I.” He finally stopped laughing. “If we both hadn't had a crying spell, I would be turned on too. I think you're beautiful.” Then he got a firm, determined look on his face and kissed TJ gently on the lips.

And TJ’s mind went blank again, half with shock and half with bliss.

Steve pulled back, beaming. “And now you're blushing.”

TJ’s face grew hotter. “Shut up, Steve.” And he pressed his forehead back to Steve’s neck. 

Steve rested his head on TJ’s and sighed, squeezing a bit harder and wrapping himself around TJ just a bit more.

TJ twitched his shoulders and shook his head a bit. Steve chuckled, and his hands resumed their positions on TJ’s back and in TJ’s hair. 

Hmmm. Bliss.

After another long, quiet moment, TJ had to ask, “So, this thing that we're doing,” and trailed off.

“Yeah?” Steve asked after TJ had been silent for several seconds.

“Is it- Are we-”

Steve’s hands stilled. “Do you want to have dinner with me?” 

TJ almost couldn’t breathe. “I. Yes! Wait, like out in public?”

“Of course. Unless you want to cook something here?” Steve rambled on. “I haven't really cooked anything since I, um, defrosted.” TJ snickered, and Steve gave him a quick squeeze. “But I was an alright cook when it was just me and Bucky. My mother taught me a lot. And it wouldn't be right for you to make something when I asked you out.”

“When? What are you going to cook?” TJ asked, near giddy. 

Steve laughed a bit and said, “After Thanksgiving?”

“No,” TJ moaned, rubbing his forehead into Steve’s neck. “Too far away.”

Steve pressed a hand to the back of TJ’s head. “It’s the day after tomorrow! How about next Wednesday?”

TJ sat up to stare Steve in the face but taking care not to pull away too much. “That’s eight days, Steve. Way too long.”

His hand was now pressed against the side of TJ’s face and his thumb rubbed along TJ’s cheekbone. “Well, I did end my trip early because I had to work.” 

TJ scowled despite how nice Steve’s hand felt. Stupid work.

“I’ll have lots of time to plan what to cook,” Steve said, as if that made up for being away for so long after just getting back.

But. There would be cooking...

“Fine. But I get to watch. And help, but I’m a terrible cook so my help is your punishment for it being so far away.”

“Sounds horrible.” And Steve gave him another gentle kiss on the lips and a small, happy smile.

TJ wanted more, but at the same time he didn’t. So he tucked himself back into Steve’s warmth and grinned. Turned out it had been a date after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by Nat and Kitty. Bless you two. As always, please let me know if you find any issues. Hope you like it! Thanks for reading.

_ Whistling precluded Bucky’s arrival home. Steve lifted his head just as the door opened. _

_ Bucky danced into the apartment, hips rocking and body swaying to his music. With a spin and spread arms, he ended his melody in a whistled flourish and his best flirty smile. _

_ Steve kept a straight face, doing his best not to grin and encourage the behavior, but Bucky saw through it and gave Steve a wink. _

_ He was about to join Steve on the couch when he stopped, frowned slightly, and picked something up from the far end. _

_ Steve’s shield. _

“ _No, Bucky!” Steve reached out to take the shield from him, but a bright blue beam of whining light slammed into the shield._

_ One wall of the apartment was blasted off. Bucky went flying out the opening. _

_ The train rocked beneath Steve's feet. _

_ Steve scrambled after Bucky and reached out to him. “Grab my hand!” Wind and snow stung as it whipped across Steve's cheeks. _

_ Bucky stretched his arm toward Steve’s. Their fingers just barely brushed, and Bucky fell. _

And Steve woke, gasping, with Bucky’s screams in his ears. Tears gathered at his eyes.

Where- Where was-

And he relaxed. There was a warm weight across the left half of his chest. He looked over and saw Bucky’s face pressed into his shoulder.

Steve smiled, so relieved that he was lightheaded. Bucky hadn’t fallen. It was just a dream.

Just a-

He froze, breath caught, body completely still, at the sight of three closed pizza boxes on the coffee table.

No.

Nausea twisted his stomach.

He had-

TJ.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed back bile. Very gently, he slid himself out from under TJ and stood up, swaying slightly.

He looked down. TJ had curled into the warm indention Steve had left in the couch cushions, still sound asleep.

Well. If there had been any lingering doubt about where Steve was or who he was with, it was long gone now. Steve had never been able to leave a shared sleeping space with Bucky still asleep. Bucky had been a light sleeper all their lives. It was a skill that had been put into practice every time Steve had tried to sneak out of bed while still sick, and it had been made even worse during the war.

Steve took a few steps over to the window and stared out at the empty street, just barely lit in the pre-dawn light.

What was he doing starting a relationship with TJ when he still obviously missed Bucky so much? And to actually mistake TJ for Bucky?

It didn’t matter that Steve had been half asleep and coming off of a nightmare. It shouldn’t happen. It wasn’t healthy for TJ or Steve. A long distance friendship was alright, asking for pictures of TJ had been a little less than alright, but becoming romantically involved? What if Steve confused them again?

Just the thought of doing that to TJ made Steve even more ill. He couldn’t use TJ as some kind of Bucky replacement. He wouldn’t. He hadn’t been. He hoped he hadn’t been.

Steve didn’t know. He’d thought that he had been ready to see TJ in person, to see Bucky’s similarities, and to still know and see  _ TJ _ . Sure he’d been a little overcome there in the kitchen, but they were so different. Different posture, mannerisms, speech patterns, accent, and so many other things.

Not once last night had Steve done any sort of double-take. But.

He pushed his forehead against the cool window, his breath fogging the glass. But maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he should...

No. Leaving TJ was not an option. Steve wasn’t giving up, wasn’t abandoning TJ. Not after last night.

Not after seeing the way TJ had smiled when Steve called him beautiful. Small. Hesitant. Unsure if Steve was being serious. But so sweet and sincere. And then TJ had bitten his lip, and Steve had been gone.

Gone with the desire to touch and hold and kiss and protect TJ from everything that had made him so hesitant. Everything that had hurt him.

No, Steve had never been a quitter before, and he wasn’t about to start now. Not when he finally had something worthwhile in this new future for just Steve Rogers, something more than just a new cause for Captain America to fight for.

He turned back to TJ, still sleeping on the couch. The room was dark, but Steve’s nightvision was pretty good. So he looked for a while. Soaked in all of TJ’s features, and picked out the many ways TJ was different from Bucky just from him lying there.

TJ’s hair for one thing. The same color, but TJ’s seemed thicker. Fluffier. Bucky’s hair had been fine and thin. He had a lot of it, but poor nutrition had made it a little brittle. TJ had a fuller face, rounder cheeks. Again, lack of food (especially during the war) had made Bucky look thinner: his cheekbones prominent and his jawline sharp. TJ also lacked any visible scars. Bucky’d had a faint line on his upper lip and another on his right eyebrow. Hard to see, but Steve had known they were there.

Their hands were very different. TJ had longer fingers, a slim wrist, and soft palms. Pianist hands. Bucky’s had been covered in little scars and heavily callused, first from the hard work he took to keep Steve fed and as healthy as possible and later from handling his rifle. A fighter’s hands.

Even the way they slept was different. Bucky had sprawled and wiggled. During the war, when stillness had been vital, he’d twitched and jerked with his dreams. TJ didn’t move much; Steve didn’t recall him having repositioned himself at all during the night, and he had been mostly on top of Steve. TJ also curled in a little, almost like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Steve looked and looked, tracing the lines of TJ’s body with his eyes. Suddenly inspired, he took soft steps back to the couch and pulled his sketchbook out of his bag. After gently moving the pizza boxes and testing to be sure the coffee table could hold his weight, he sat down and began to draw.

First a drawing of TJ’s face. Then his hands, and then his entire body, curled in sleep. He did mini sketches, several on each page. TJ’s lips, his closed eyes, his jaw. After he had exhausted every way to draw TJ as he was now, Steve started sketching from memory. The way he had held a slice of pizza. Him bent over slightly as he got their drinks from the fridge. His smile, that tiny, perfect smile as Steve called him beautiful. And then a detailed sketch of his lips and the way he had bitten them just a bit afterwards.

Steve filled pages as he sketched into the morning, sunlight creeping in through the window and bathing the room in warmth.

“What are you drawing?” a sleep-hoarse voice asked.

Steve jumped, making an extra mark on the paper.

TJ was watching Steve from his still curled position on the couch with a smile just hinting at the corner of his lips. The sun lit up his hair making it seem almost golden at the tips, leaving his eyes dark and shaded by the arm of the couch.

Steve stared. How had he managed to get so lucky a second time in his life?

TJ’s smile grew, and mischief crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Steve. What are you drawing?”

Oh. Right. Drawing. Steve looked down at his page and then back at TJ. “Um.”

TJ slowly sat up and stretched his arms up, twisting his head side to side.

Steve’s eyes were ensnared by the arch of TJ’s throat. His fingers itched, but he didn’t know if it was with the desire to touch or draw.

Before Steve realized it, TJ had slinked his way between Steve’s knees and was flipping through the sketchbook. There was no telling who was redder, Steve or TJ, but TJ’s tiny, perfect, happy smile was back and TJ’s warm shoulder pressed into Steve’s chest. Those more than made up for any embarrassment Steve was feeling.

Setting the sketchbook aside, TJ caught Steve face with both hands and kissed him gently. Steve melted into it and placed his hands on TJ’s hips. TJ’s tongue made little licks across Steve’s lips that made him moan and his lips tingle.

Their breathing sped up as their kiss grew wetter, hotter. TJ’s hands moved up to Steve’s hair. Steve’s were gripping TJ’s hips tight, pulling him closer.

TJ pulled back, and, wow, did he look beautiful, kneeling there between Steve’s knees.

But when TJ moved in to start unbuttoning Steve’s shirt, Steve had a sick flash of his thoughts this morning. He intercepted TJ’s fingers at his second button. “Wait.”

TJ went still, hands frozen. “What is it?”

“I-” How did he say this without hurting TJ? “I think we should go a little slower.”

TJ looked down and to the left. He was biting the inside of his cheek. “Do you not-”

“Oh, I do. I do.” Steve cupped TJ’s face in his hands. “It's just.” He rubbed his thumb across the spot where TJ had been biting. “You really do look a lot like Bucky. My head knows that you're not him. My heart knows too because as alike as you two are, you are also that different. But.” He pressed his forehead to TJ’s. “I have to know it’s you, even when I’m mostly asleep and fresh out of a dream. Anything less is…”

“Steve, it's okay.” TJ brought his arms up to Steve’s shoulders. “We can keep going. I don't mind.”

“No, it's not okay.” Steve shook his head. “I won't do that to you. You're worth more than that.” He hugged TJ, firm and gentle. “You're important to me. And not because you look like Bucky. I like you for being you and not because you remind me of him.” He pulled back just enough to see TJ’s face. “I'm with you. But I have to be... completely sure.” TJ looked a little confused. “Am I making sense?”

“I guess. I just…”

Steve kissed him at the corner of his mouth. “Can we just go slow for now? Lots of kisses.” He kissed the other side. “And talking.” He kissed his lips. “And hugs. I like those.” He gently squeezed TJ and pressed his face into his neck. He pressed a kiss there too.

TJ laughed once. “Yeah, I like them too.” He squeezed back. “Slow is alright.”

They stayed there for several minutes. Steve soaked up TJ’s warmth and breathed him in, smelled his cologne and soap and skin. It felt so good to just  _ be _ with another person.

“Did you…” TJ trailed off.

Steve hummed into his neck to encourage him.

TJ shivered. “‘Fresh out of a dream.’ That’s pretty specific. Did something happen this morning?”

Steve tensed. Was this something TJ needed to know? Would knowing hurt him? But…

“I had a… nightmare. About Bucky. And when I woke up…”

“You thought I was him.”

Steve couldn’t read anything from TJ’s voice. He didn’t want to pull back and see TJ’s face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into TJ’s neck.

“Hey.”

Steve lifted his head. TJ looked… amused. One side of his mouth was quirked up, and his eyes were crinkled in the corners.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been called Dougie?” TJ said. “So many. Especially by my parents and Nana. And we’re not even close to identical twins.”

“That's different,” Steve waved one hand, “those are just slips of the tongue. My Ma would call Bucky my name all the time, and his would call me James.”

“Yeah, but..” TJ grabbed his hand and moved back to sit on the couch, pulling Steve along with him. “Haven't you ever expected someone to be there and-” He spun sideways to face Steve, one leg drawn up. “Like my Dad would be working, and I'd come see him. Only he thought I was one of his aids, and he'd start giving me this list of stuff to get done. But then he'd look up and see it was me and... You get me?”

“TJ, that's different.”

“No, it's not. Steve.” TJ leaned towards Steve and pressed their shoulders together, still holding tight to Steve's right hand. “You're being too hard on yourself. It's-” He trailed the fingers of his right hand along the back of Steve's. It felt nice. “It's only been about four months, right? Since you last saw him.”

Steve couldn't breathe. “I-”

“And,” TJ continued, not looking up from their joined hands. “you had been sleeping together. So you expected him to be there.” He finally looked Steve in the eyes, and Steve lost his breath all over again. “It's alright to make mistakes.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't know what to say. Finally he smiled. He had to - otherwise he would start crying. “How did you get so smart?”

“What are you talking about?” TJ laughed. “I've always been the smart one.” Then he shrugged and looked away. “I may have done some reading. You, uh...” He started fiddling with their fingers again. “You had done all that research on addicts, and I knew you were in the army. So I looked up PTSD. And how their... partners can help out.”

Steve pulled TJ into his lap and hugged him, holding tight and pressing his face into TJ's chest.

“Ack,” TJ squawked. “Wow, you're strong.” He started stroking up and down Steve's back and running fingers through his hair. “The stuff I read was pretty interesting. Made me think,” he stopped his motions and squeezed Steve tight, “maybe we both need some kind of counseling. I did NA. It helped for a while. But then I screwed that up too.” He stuck face in Steve's hair and mumbled, “I don't know.”

Steve moved TJ so that his legs were draped across Steve's and he was cradled in Steve's left arm. He pressed a kiss to TJ's cheek.

“You sure do like manhandling me,” TJ said, making a pouty face.

“Sorry.” Steve kissed TJ's lips.

“It's alright. Kind of hot.”

Steve chuckled and leaned his forehead against TJ's temple. “Do you want to tell me what happened with NA?”

“No.” TJ sighed. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to-” Steve began.

“I want you to know. I just…” He leaned further into Steve. “Don’t want to tell you. It’s not one of my proudest moments. Not that I have many.”

TJ seemed to be gathering himself. “You know about the club, right?”

Steve nodded.

“I worked for months on the plans for it. I had so many ideas. Ways to class it up after it got off its feet. Keep the clientele coming.” TJ looked so wistful as he spoke, eyes far off, a tiny smile on his lips. 

“But to begin with, all the investors needed money.” His smile died. “I asked my parents; they shot me down. Asked Nana.” He shook his head. “Nope. Finally Dougie came through for me as long as I worked on getting clean again.”

He curled into Steve’s shoulder more, hiding his face. Steve held him tighter.

TJ’s voice was muffled when he continued. “So I went to NA meetings. Got a sober partner. Opening night comes, things are looking great. Lots of people, lots of good press. Everything coming together. My family says they’ll be there. And-” He choked the rest of the words back. 

He was quiet for so long that Steve prompted him with a soft, “TJ?” and a hand through his hair.

Steve heard a sniff, and TJ said, “Sorry. Long story short, my family didn't come to the opening when they said they would. It was completely my fault, but, yeah. I got really low. And I guess my dealer had been looking for me. Didn’t want to lose one of his best customers. He gave me a pack of coke. My sober partner caught me half way in, tried to stop me, and I manipulated him into doing blow with me. The guy had been clean for six years. Three weeks with me, and he breaks it.” 

Steve sat up straighter. “What?” He must have heard wrong; TJ couldn’t possibly mean...

TJ drew his legs up.“Yeah, I know-” 

“No,” Steve interrupted. “I mean, he actually did drugs with you?” 

“Yes, but-”

Steve manhandled TJ again, lifting him up and ignoring his squeak, so that he was straddling Steve’s legs and couldn’t hide his face. “That’s not your fault,” Steve said with both hands on TJ’s cheeks, looking him straight in the eyes.

“What?” TJ looked so surprised that Steve wondered if anyone had told him that before.

“It’s not your fault, TJ. He let you down. Not the other way around.”

“But-” TJ bit his lip and leaned slightly into Steve’s hands.

“Not. Your. Fault.” Steve had to be sure TJ understood. “Had you already taken drugs?”

“Yes,” TJ said with a wince. 

“Did he already have anything that would impair his judgement?”

“I don’t think so…”

“So, someone completely sober allowed their charge to convince them to break their sobriety streak? You were his responsibility.” Steve shook TJ’s shoulders a little. “Not the other way around.”

“I-” TJ ducked his head. “I’ve never thought of it like that. I still feel bad though.”

“That’s fine,” Steve said and hugged him again, “but feel bad for asking. Not for him accepting.”

TJ burrowed his face into Steve’s neck and didn’t say anything else.

Steve kissed the top of his head and held him. Held him tight but gentle and tried to give him all the comfort and security he seemed to have been lacking. To think that TJ had been so sure that he had been at fault. Who else had been in a position where they should have protected him but hadn’t? 

_ I tried to kill myself. _

Steve shuddered. He kissed TJ’s hair again and asked, “What happened after that?”

“Oh.” TJ’s voice was muffled and a little sleepy. “I, um, woke up in the hospital.”

Steve hugged TJ tighter. “Was that when…”

“No, that was almost a year ago. Back in December.”

TJ brushed his nose against Steve’s neck. His breath tickled. It was almost enough to distract Steve from his desire to know. “Ah, December. So, you weren’t…”

TJ went still. “I… don’t know… I wasn't trying to overdose, but... I didn't care too much about living that night.”

“When I brought the plane down.” Steve shivered at the memory of the cold, icy water. TJ’s fingers started playing with the hair at the base of his neck. He shivered again for a different reason but finished his thought. “I didn't care very much about living either.”

They were both quiet, lost in memories, content to just be in each other’s presence. 

Finally TJ said, “Well. Now that we’ve both probably lost our appetites with horrifically depressing topics, how about breakfast?”

Hands back on his cheeks, Steve brought TJ’s face up again and met his gaze. He wanted to be sure there were no more shadows lurking behind TJ’s eyes.

But TJ was smiling, a barely there quirk, and his eyes were nearly dancing with happiness. Steve couldn’t help but beam back and give him a quick kiss. TJ’s smile grew, and Steve just stared, his heart so full he had to laugh a little. “Breakfast sounds good. I can always eat.”

TJ snorted. “I wouldn’t have guessed with how much pizza you ate last night. You said,” his voice changed to a mocking falsetto, “‘order three, TJ.’ And I did. Now I have two whole pizzas left over! You should at least stay and help me eat them.”

Steve kissed him again. “I’m so sorry I have to leave you with too many leftovers. We did get distracted though.”

“Yeah, and it was a great distraction. Stay and…” TJ kissed him back, “distract me some more?”

If only. Steve would love to stay. He flipped the around, pressed TJ into the back of the couch, and gave him another kiss. “I wish I could.” Then he stood up and held out a hand. 

TJ stared up at him, mouth open, lips wet, and hair mussed from sleep and Steve’s fingers. He really wanted to stay. “Really?” TJ whined.

“Really,” Steve said, hand still outstretched. 

Sighing, TJ took his hand, and Steve lifted him up. “Breakfast it is.” Walking to the kitchen, he asked, “You said something about being in New York?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting with Fury and Stark.”

Head in the fridge as he rummaged for who knew what, TJ said, “You sound excited.”

“Uh, yeah.” They were both still in their clothes from last night. Steve was just as distracted by TJ leaning over in his jeans as he had been then. “It will be an experience at least. What are you looking for?”

TJ’s head popped up over the door. “Um. Breakfast?”

“You have to look that long? You don’t have eggs? Flour? Milk?”

“Eggs, yes. No, to the other two. What? Don’t give me that look. I can’t cook and didn’t plan for breakfast.”

Steve looked up at the ceiling and back at TJ. “Do you have bread?”

After a quick search through the cupboard next to the sink, TJ held a squashed loaf of bread in triumph. “Yes!”

Steve pulled out the half empty carton of eggs and said, “Eggs and toast it is then.” He gave TJ a gentle push towards the toaster oven. “You know how to use that, right?”

Hands on his hips, TJ made a show at getting offended and smooshed the bread even more. “I have you know, that I am a toaster oven master. I toast the best bread.”

Steve snorted. “I hope you also toast the flattest bread. Now, hopefully you have a frying pan?”

After digging out a spatula and pan (and washing all the dust out), plus a few extra ancient and long forgotten ingredients from TJ’s cupboards and fridge, Steve gestured for the spices and asked, “So what are your plans for Thanksgiving? Does your family cook?”

Passing the salt, pepper, and garlic powder, TJ watched avidly as Steve added each to a large bowl of shelled eggs. “It depends on how busy my family is. Most of the time, we just have someone else do it, and my mother cleans up the kitchen out of guilt.” The toaster oven dinged, and TJ swapped the toast for bread and reset the timer. “The one time we actually had a home cooked dinner was after we left the White House, and my dad cooked most of it.”

Steve picked up a fork and started whisking the eggs. “He likes to cook?”

TJ’s eyes widened as the eggs and spices mixed and turned into a consistent yellow. “Sort of. He gets inspired for about a month once a decade.” He shrugged. “What about your plans?”

“I thinks Stark had something planned.” Steve poured the eggs into the hot, buttered pan. “I guess I’ll be with him.”

That statement finally pulled TJ’s attention from Steve’s cooking, and he made a weird face, nose scrunched, head tilted, and half his mouth turned up.

It was hilarious. Steve snickered and turned back to the eggs making sure they didn’t stick. “What is that face for?” he asked.

“It’s just so…” TJ buttered another slice of toast. “I don’t know. I talked about my family leaving the White House, something most people only dream of seeing, but then you just casually say that you might be having Thanksgiving with Tony Stark, one of the few people my mother wants to speak to but can’t get in touch with. It’s so…” He waved the butter knife around and nearly stabbed Steve with it. “You.”

“So me,” Steve said, catching TJ’s wrist.

“Yeah, So Steve.” He smiled guiltily. “It’s great.”

“If you say so.” Steve turned back to the eggs and, seeing that they were almost done, added the canned mushrooms. “What were you saying about your mother wanting to talk to Stark?”

Having completed his job with the toast, TJ jumped up on the counter next to the stove, still fascinated with Steve’s cooking. “Tony Stark’s famous with all the politicians as the guy they all want the support of, but can never get.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked as he mixed cheese in with the eggs.

“Rich people often support candidates for political offices by donating money for their campaign. Tony Stark has never supported anyone.” TJ opened the cabinet behind his head and pulled out two plates and cups. “Says they’re all money grubbing liars and he doesn’t have the time or stomach to sift through them all to find ones that might do a good job.”

Steve split the eggs into the plates. “That sounds like Stark.” He turned to TJ only to find him staring into the living room, orange juice forgotten in his hands. “TJ?”  Peering around TJ’s shoulder to see what had caught his attention, Steve didn’t see anything unusual. Except… the shield. “You know, it’s fine if you touch it. It won’t break or anything.”

TJ laughed and turned to join Steve at his cluttered kitchen table. “It’s just… You know I studied Captain America in school. And here’s the shield, propped up against my couch.” He waved a hand towards the living room. “Dougie would be so jealous right now. He was a pretty big fan when we were kids.”

“Not you?” 

“Nah. Not my thing.” Picking up his fork, TJ added, “Now if they had made Steve Rogers comics…”

“Ha. No, thank you.” Steve took a bite of the eggs. Not bad. Fresh mushrooms would have been better than canned, and the cheese had become very sharp from sitting so long in the fridge, but not bad.

TJ on the other hand…

“Jesus Christ, this is amazing.” He took another bite and let out a moan that made Steve’s thoughts quickly turn to the memory of this morning, of what could have happened if Steve hadn’t stopped TJ from unbuttoning his shirt. “Shut up, Steve. This is good.”

Steve took a bite and gave a moan of his own in retaliation.

TJ gaped, fork half in his mouth, and cheeks flushed.

“What?” Steve said, using his well practice ability to pull of a look of complete innocence. “They’re not half bad.”

“So anyway…” TJ coughed a bit. “What were we talking about?”

“Comics?”

“Right.” TJ ate another bite, this time without the orgasmic sounds. “So, uh. Grandpa Hammond. He gave Dougie a first edition copy of one of the comics. Issue four, I think. Something like that.” He took a sip of orange juice. “After that, he was obsessed with them for a year. But the comics were really hard to find and expensive. They were only in print for a couple decades. He eventually toned it down, but I know he still has them wrapped in plastic in the top of his closet.”

“Huh.” Steve took a bite from his toast. “You said you studied me in school?”

“Yeah, just, you know basic stuff.” TJ waved his fork around in the air. “Major accomplishments. Important dates. Things you have to learn about any historical figure.”

Steve didn’t quite know what to think of that. It was... “That’s really strange, thinking about kids learning about me in school.”

“Tell me about it. My dad was president long ago enough that he’s in some history books. The really detailed ones mention my coming out. Not exactly what I wanted to go down in history for.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Did Steve ever know. He became famous dancing around on stage in tights. 

“Oh!” TJ said, and Steve startled a little. “There was a movie about you.”

“What?!”

“Yeah.” TJ scraped the last of his eggs off the plate. “They made it in the seventies, and it was terrible.” Now it was TJ’s turn to pull the innocent look. “Is it true that you met Bucky Barnes after pulling him out from under a burning timber when the orphanage you lived in caught fire?”

What the hell? “No! Where did that even come from?”

TJ cackled in glee and stood up, taking his empty plate with him. “The movie!”

“That is a terrible movie,” Steve said, as he gathered his own dirty dishes. “I never lived in an orphanage, and I think the first time I ever saved Bucky was when I rescued him and the 107th.”

Still laughing to himself, TJ said, “Yeah, you said you got into trouble a lot.”

“That’s what Bucky would say.” Steve poked TJ with the dull end of his fork and raised an eyebrow. TJ rolled his eyes and started rinsing off their plates. “I would say,” Steve continued, “that other people kept getting me into trouble.”

“I’m sure. Because you are an innocent angel,” TJ said, placing the dishes that Steve handed him into the dishwasher.

“Exactly.” Steve added a firm nod.

Dishes loaded, TJ turned back to Steve. He had an odd look on his face, one Steve couldn’t place. Almost sad, but he was smiling, and his eyes were bright. Wistful? Steve reached out and pulled TJ towards him, hands on his cheeks, into a deep kiss. TJ gave a little whimper when he drew away, so Steve held him closer, pressed their foreheads together, and kissed his left cheek. 

“Don’t miss me already.” Steve kissed his other cheek. “I’m not gone yet.” He kissed TJ’s nose. “I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

TJ just sighed. “So you really do have to leave?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to go either.”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” TJ eyes suddenly teared up just enough to glisten; he bit his lip just a little and formed the most pathetic pout. 

Steve burst into laughter.

TJ dropped the act and huffed. “I was going for ‘so sad, please don’t leave me,’ not ‘laugh hysterically at my misfortune.’”

Steve tried to smother his laughs into TJ’s shoulder without much success. Finally, he caught his breath. “No, it’s just…” 

“It’s just…? Bucky, right? Come on,” TJ whined. “I promise that I do want to know.”

“Bucky…” Steve trailed off. It was difficult talking about Bucky now, after this morning. But if TJ was asking. “He used to do the same thing. Make faces to get me to do what he wanted. Only he wasn’t nearly as good at it as you are.”

“Ah.” TJ put on an air of snooty know-it-all-ness. “He looked something like this?” And his pouty face changed: his bottom lip stuck out just a bit too much, he frowned a little more, and his eyes didn’t tear. 

Steve snorted again. “Yes, exactly!”

“He was just missing my years of experience. I mastered that face after using it on all the nannies, babysitters, and other assorted minders that Dougie and I had growing up. None of them ever stuck around long enough to see through it.” 

“Master manipulator,” Steve said, shaking his head slightly and smiling.

But TJ frowned a little. “Yeah. I am good at manipulating people. Kind of runs in the family.”

“Hey.” Steve brushed along TJ’s cheekbone with his thumb. “It just depends on how you use it.”

TJ closed his eyes and leaned into Steve’s hand. “I don’t like it though.”

“Then don’t,” Steve kissed TJ’s opposite cheek, “use it to hurt people. Make them laugh instead.”

“I’ll try.” TJ opened his eyes and, switching moods, peered up through his lashes and said, “You know, I don’t mind you talking about him. Bucky. I like it even.”

“But-” Steve started, caught off guard.

“No buts. He’s important to you.” TJ pressed harder into Steve’s hand. “Even if I was insecure or something. And I’m not. I couldn’t ask you to cut out a piece of your heart, Steve.”

“ I-” He stopped, unable to continue. He wanted to say a hundred things, but all he could think was,  _ TJ _ . 

“So go ahead. Tell me everything and anything.” 

Finally Steve leaned close to TJ and whispered, “Thank you,” and kissed him, heart so full of happiness and love for this man. 

And if he was late for his meeting with Fury and Stark, well, they could just wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks! :)  
> I'm here too: http://jisahinode.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fan Art for "Let the Melody Shine (let it cleanse your mind)"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6759541) by [Lymmel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lymmel/pseuds/Lymmel)




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